


On the Edge

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Campaign: Amnesty (The Adventure Zone), Canon-Typical Violence, Consentacles, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human!Indrid, Human/Monster Romance, Intercrural Sex, Knotting, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Size Difference, Sylph!Duck, background danbrey, background sternclay, indruck, reverse!au - Freeform, well technically they're vines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25579579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: Indrid Cold is troubled by visions of the future that he neither asked for nor can control. The little town of Kepler, West Virginia, appears in them over and over, and he hopes that the town will offer him the answers he seeks. Or, at least, offer him peace.Duck Newton has been guarding the forest once called Sylvain for years. A new arrival in town has his forest on edge and his suspicions on the rise. The human called Indrid Cold could be a threat to him and everything he loves. And that simply won't do.But as the two try to puzzle out their predicaments new, dangerous, wondrous things gather in the margins of their lives. Whether that's to push them together or tear them apart (literally), neither is sure.
Relationships: Indrid Cold/Duck Newton
Comments: 20
Kudos: 78





	1. Arrivals

**Author's Note:**

> I got several requests in various forms for a roleswap/reverse Indruck AU. As will become obvious, this isn't a perfect one to one swap of the story and characters, because whenever I went that angle the story didn't work and the characters got too detached from their recognizable selves. All the same, I hope you enjoy!

Indrid Cold is running. He has been running since he was sixteen, since the night of rubble and pointing fingers. Running is instinct, second nature, a dozen other excuses he could name rather than speak the truth; running is the only solution he can think of.

He’s been running so long, he can’t remember if he’s running towards or from at this point. He just knows that if he doesn’t stop soon, he’ll collapse like a dying galaxy in the torn diver seat of his run-down Winnebago.

The lack of a radio signal tells him that he’s close to his destination. The faded green metal sign announces Kepler, West Virginia. Population: 2,000.

Kepler. The town keeps appearing in his dreams, in his visions too. Maybe if he comes here, if he can stop running long enough to sit and wait, maybe it will all explain itself. Maybe it will all stop. 

The May sun is setting behind the trees of the Monongahela National Forest as he pulls up to the ranger station. Crickets call, the cicadas still asleep in the earth, as the woman at the station asks him how long he’d like a spot for. 

“Indefinitely.”

“That ain’t really an option.” Her smile is tired, but not unkind.

“Oh, ah, then, is it possible to pay month by month?”

“Yeah. Here, lemme check what’s available.” She returns a few moments later with a site number, gives him directions and a permit and sends him on his way. 

He’s hooked the old girl up so many times he could do it with his eyes shut. He’s not entirely sure he hasn’t; there was a time outside New Orleans he was so exhausted he can’t remember how he got the camp together. 

“Well done, Winnie. We made it.” He pats her hood; she may be held together by spite and cheap repairs, but she’s all he has. 

He turns, looks down the hill towards town. There are still some lights on, pools of warmth and welcome dotting the dark patches of trees. The ‘Bago is dark. If he wants it warm, he’ll have to go in, turn on the light, do each and every detail himself. It’ll be the same story if he wants to eat something that isn’t Skittles or trail mix from a plastic bag. 

Locking the door, he zips up his jacket and heads towards the road. It’s a pleasant walk, the wildflowers poking through the dirt on the roadside. The birds a calling each other home, and as he inhales the scent of pine and dirt, something about it calming him instantly. The exhaust from a passing car ruins the effect a tad, but the smog is fleeting and the trees are constant. As the futures shift and spin in his mind, a small part of him wants to step beyond the treeline and lay down, let the leaves and soil cover him like a blanket for awhile. 

In spite of the many lights, Kepler is still a small town on a Sunday, when most things close early or never open at all. A trip up and down main street brings no options but a general store that’s closing in five minutes. He sighs; microwaved mac and cheese and fruit cups it is. 

Trekking up the hill, a new set of lights come into view, and as he gets closer the silhouette of a lodge forms against the blue-black horizon. He takes a right, follows the unpaved road to the front of the building where a sign reads:

_Amnesty Lodge: Clean Rooms, Hot Food, Privacy_

A smaller sign in the window tells him to follow the wrap around porch to the left if he wants to find the restaurant. Dutifully, he rounds the corner and locates the door. Poking his head inside, the restaurant is empty save for two women in a booth and a cook at the stove near the counter seats. According to the hours on the door, he has fifteen minutes until it closes. 

“Can I help you?” The cook is now leaning on the counter.

“Ah, I was simply looking to see if you were open, but since it’s nearly closing time, I can-”

The cook waves a dismissive hand, “not like I’m knee-deep in orders. Making you dinner won’t, like, mean I go to bed at midnight.” He points to a seat at the counter and Indrid makes his way to it, studying the laminated menu as the man brings him water. Peeks at the futures more concertedly to be certain what he wants is available.

“I would like a slice of pie, cherry if you have it, and some french fries.”

“Comin’ right up.” 

“Thank you, ah” he glances at the nametag on the plaid shirt, “Barclay.”

The cook nods and, to Indrid’s delight actually makes the fries fresh and lets him put his own whipped cream on his pie. 

“You just passing through?” 

“No. I’m staying in the Eastwoods campground for the foreseeable future.”

“Nice spot. Some good wild foraging over that way. Or so I’m told.” He sets the plate down with a pleasingly solid, ceramic thunk.

“Are you new in town as well? I, ah, you don’t sound like a local.”’

“Newish. Got here about two months ago and Mama, who runs the Lodge, was nice enough to give me a job. You got work lined up? If not I could-”

“-Ask Mama or Mr.Stern.” Indrid finishes along with him, shoves a hot fry into his mouth to cover the misstep of saying a name he does not know, “no, thank you, I have work already. I’m an artist, specializing in tattoo designs, though I do other commissions.”

“Dang, that’s cool. Um, how’s that gonna work with internet being tricky out here?”

“I contacted the library ahead of time to be sure I could use it there when needed.”

A giggle behind them, and he spots the two women clearly coming out of a kiss. 

“Does...does that young woman have a rabbit?”

“Huh?” Barclay looks up from cleaning the counters, “oh, yeah, that’s Dr. Harris Bonkers, he belongs to Aubrey, the one with the red streak in her hair.” He goes back to his tidying, humming as Indrid eats. Indrid pulls out his pocket sketchbook, trying to put futures in orders, and gets a drawing of a tall, handsome man about to come through the door leading to the rest of the lodge.

“Aubrey? Dani? Oh good, there you are, Mama wants to see you before you head out for the night.” The man smiles at the two women. Indrid smiles as well, at the fact Barclay turns at the voice the instant he hears it, like a dog heeding a call home. 

Stern turns and Indrid catches a blush rising along his cheeks.

“Evening, Barclay, didn’t realize you still had customers.”

“Just a fellow wanderer, Mr. Stern.”

A fond sigh, “Barclay, you know ‘Joseph’ is fine.”

“Right, sorry Mr. Ster--Joseph.” The cook turns, trying to make his six-foot, goodness-knows-how-many-pounds form, smaller as he arranges mugs on a shelf, “the usual?”

“Please.” He sits on Indrid’s left, leaving a stool between them, “are you looking for a room Mr..?”

“Cold. Indrid Cold, yes like the urban legend. My parents had an...interesting sense of humor. And no, I do not need a place to stay but thank you for the offer.”

“He’s staying over at Eastwoods.” Barclay sets a cup of coffee in front of Stern.

“That’s a nice short drive back, then.”

“I walked. I don’t have a car. Or, ah, I have a Winnebago, but driving it every little place is obnoxious.”

“Understandable.” Stern sips his coffee, “you know, I have some errands to run in a bit. How about I give you a ride back on my way into town?”

Indrid quickly sifts through futures to make sure that doesn’t end with him being murdered, then nods, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

The man assures him it’s not, and so once Indrid finishes dinner and pays he follows Stern out to a jeep. The trip home is just long enough for him to learn Stern is the Lodge’s manager and that he keeps his car terrifyingly pristine save for the stack of ABBA CDs in the backseat. 

Winnie is waiting for him, the hum of her generator and flicker of the bedroom light accompanying him as he gets ready for bed. Because it’s that kind of night, he pulls his small, round, plush mothman from the cupboard by the bed and holds it as he tosses and turns himself to sleep. Maybe if he’s lucky, the peace of this evening is a predictor of things to come. If only the futures would settle enough for him to see.

Outside, the wind picks up and the trees creak with interest, turning their attention towards the trailer and the man asleep within it. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m tellin you, that new fella is trouble.” Duck rests his claws on the trunk of a pine and glares towards the Eastwoods campground.

“Duck, I met him last night. He’s a little odd, but in a way that’s very human.”

“Humans can cause plenty of trouble. No offense, Dani.”

“None taken.” The blonde woman smiles up at him from where her head is resting in Aubrey’s lap. The four of them are in a clearing deep in the forest, having lunch. Duck appreciates his friends willingness to travel out here and spend time with him since he can't exactly waltz into town. Just because he likes his alone time doesn’t mean he wants to be stuck with his own thoughts every goddamn minute. He just wishes they’d listen to him.

“Somethin’s wrong, the whole forest is vibratin’. Not, uh, not literally, but y’know. Like how Dr. Harris Bonkers is when he hears a hawk.”

The rabbit, undisguised and therefore sporting visible horns, snuffles at him. 

“Doesn’t it make more sense for it to be, like, the giant construction crew that’s one campground over?” Aubrey raises her eyebrow, tossing a flame absentmindedly form hand to hand as she talks. 

“It’s different. Besides, they been there for two months already and the woods ain’t ever felt like this. No, it started with him, that’s for damn sure. And put that damn thing out, you know it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.” Aubrey snuffs out the flame, “my control is way better now so, like, we won’t have another incident like we did with the multi-bear.”

Duck and Stern both shudder, but for different reasons. They’d stopped that abomination, but Duck lost two acres of forest to the resulting fire and the fur on Stern’s left side was singed for a month.

“Multi-bear?”

“Before your time, cutie.” Aubrey kisses her girlfriend’s nose.

“All I’m sayin is if one of you isn’t gonna watch him, I will.”

“I don’t see an issue with that.” Stern opens the cooler they brought, “after all, if he is a threat to the woods, you’re in the best position to feel it coming and stop him. Even if he’s after the heart, you’re the one who can command all of this,” he gestures to the surrounding forest, “which will go a long way towards impeding him. Now, let’s eat; Barclay worked hard on this and I don’t want it going to waste.”

“Betcha wish that wasn’t the only thing he’d work hard on.” Aubrey bounces her eyebrows and Dani laughs. Even Dr. Harris Bonkers snickers. 

“He’s an employee, Aubrey.”

“But employed by Mama, not you.” Dani points out as she grabs a sandwich. 

“And he’s, he’s…” 

“Not your type?” Duck offers, sending two vines out to grab a muffin. 

“...no, that’s the problem. He very much is. Setting aside his wonderful personality, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I was the small spoon in a relationship? He’s _bigger_ than me and it makes me want to crawl into his arms and, and, and lick his throat and whine until he holds me.”

“Easy buddy” Duck pats his shoulder, “you know how most humans respond to Sylphs. Present company excluded.”

“It helps that I’m a catch.” Aubrey grins at Dani.

“Damn right.”

“I know” Stern chews a mouthful of sandwich, adds glumly, “I wish I was better at staying away from him.”

“Could always go on Duck’s stakeout.”

“Can’t, I have work back at the lodge.”

“And it ain’t a stakeout” Duck grumbles, “I just makin’ sure mister making-the-grass-stand-on-end don’t try nothin’.”

\----------------------------------------------

Indrid hasn’t tried _nothing_ , but he’s come pretty damn close. The most interesting thing to happen all day was he almost dropped his groceries trying to get into his house on wheels. 

But Duck has been in these woods a long time. He knows how to sit patient within them. As the sun starts it’s downward arc, a cardinal lands on a branch of his right horn. He coaxes soft grass to grow across the scales of his arms, smiles when the bird plucks some away and flies off to a nearby, nearly finished nest. She returns several times for more material as the light fades and the voices in the forest shift; some plants and creatures quiet into sleep, others awaken into action, and still Duck waits for something to happen. 

What is the human _doing_ in there?

He could be plotting right now, building something to hurt Duck’s home, or his friends. 

Duck climbs down to the forest floor. The claws on his feet are good for many things, but stealth is not one of them, and so he silently shifts all the leaves and twigs out of his path until he has a clear, secretive path to the trailer. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Indrid squints, groans, and reaches for the bottle of painkillers he left on the floor near his bed. The headache dogged him all day, making it hard to draw, or grocery shop, or do anything but lay very still. As a side effect, the futures are coming through strangely, like a T.V channel he can’t get the full signal for until the moment before something happens. 

This isn’t all that terrible a side effect, and he hopes it’s a sign the blasted things are finally stopping. 

A scratching on the wall of the trailer makes him jump, but he quickly calms himself. Juno, the ranger who stopped by this morning, mentioned sometimes raccoons come into camp. Bears as well, though she swears there haven’t been any around lately. 

Another scratch, prolonged and accompanied by footfalls heavy enough to shake the ground. He springs up, grabbing the baseball bat he keeps by the bed. He’s fairly certain he locked the door, but now is not the time to take chances. 

The scratching follows him as he hurries to the door. Locked, thank god. The nob turns once, twice, three times. Then the metal pushes towards him, slowly, as if whatever is waiting in the dark is testing to see if it could get in. Or letting him know it could if it truly wanted too. 

Clutching the bat, he begs the futures to form into something helpful. The noise stops, and he takes a step back. Then he gasps as golden, glowing eyes, too high off the ground to belong to a human, peer in at him from the windshield

He bolts back into the bedroom, pulling the shade on the small window, switching off the lights, and huddling under the covers, straining to hear if the creature is moving towards or away from him. There will be no sleeping tonight, that much is certain. 

\----------------------------------------------

Duck waits awhile, staring in through the windshield, in case the human decides to be brave and take another look, or tries to do something foolish. 

No movement, no sound, for well over ten minutes. In the darkness, he grins.

The human is afraid of him. 

_Good._


	2. The Gaurd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid draws. Duck observes. Mama worries.

_The ground is splitting open. Swallowing the town, the woods, the world. Someone is calling his name, frantic and afraid. Metal in his palm, heart in his throat, he looks down._

Indrid wakes up, shaking. That dream never gets any easier to recover from. He’s been having it for months, certain it can’t be a vision because they seldom come that far in advance. Now with the added hiccups in his powers, he’s certain that’s the case. 

At least the eyes weren’t back last night, though something was snuffling at the edges of his camp, snapping branches and growling. He chooses to believe it was a bear. 

When he gets to the library, the clients he's awaiting replies from haven’t answered him. He finds a cowboy romance novel that looks promising, checks it out, and heads into the morning air in hopes of a sunny spot to read. Notices that the sign on the tourist trap at the end of the street is flipped on, neon buzzing weakly under the spring light. 

Well, cryptids _are_ having a moment. Perhaps the inspiration for new pieces is waiting for him just past the Bigfoot carving. 

A bell dings, but no one is there to see him come in. He wanders the displays, rolling his eyes at the shoddy fake photographs on some of them. 

“Mornin’.”

“Gah!” He whirls; his future sight usually lets him know when someone is sneaking up on him. However, a larger question is; how does someone so large make so little sound?

“Welcome to the world famous Cryptonomica.” 

And why in the world is someone with an English accent running a shop in a town so small it took Indrid three tries to find it on a map?

“Ah, thank you. I...you are open, right?”

“Yes indeed. Not tourist season yet, so things are a mite quieter than usual. You’re the first visitor of the day.” He doesn’t sound hostile, just bored. Like someone waiting for a bus he’s not sure he actually wants to get on. 

“Which means _you_ get a free bumper sticker.” Dani appears from a back room, blonde hair tied back and radiating sunshine as she hands him his prize. 

“Where the heck is the cryptonomica?” He cocks his head, “Yes, I think this will look great on Winnie.” He smiles, hoping the wideness looks sincere rather than plastered on, as so many people enjoying telling him it does. 

“Winnie?”

“My trailer. I, ah, named her. I know that’s silly.”

“Eh” the man shrugs, “not the first bloke I’ve known to dote on his car like that.”

“I’m not sure I’d call it doting…”

The bell dings again and Dani waves as Barclay steps through the door, grocery bag in either hand. 

“Morning! Oh, hey Indrid, good to see you. Dani, soon as St--Joseph is done picking up his holds we’ll be ready to go.”

“I’ve known teachers that read less.” The man mumbles. 

Dani punches his arm playfully, “hey, he may be a gigantic nerd, but he’s our nerd.” 

“Be nice, or this nerd is not giving anyone anymore rides topside.” Stern walks in, canvas bag on his arm.

“You know we love you.” Dani grins at him as she stands on tiptoe and loops an arm over Barclay’s shoulder

“That threat was for him, not you.” Stern shoots the owner a pointed look.

“Oh crud, I need to return Aubrey’s sweater. Be right back.” Dani disappears as Barclay turns to Stern. 

“I can take those and load up the car. If, uh, if you want?”

Stern’s face stays polite, but Indrid spots the same blush on his cheeks as always, “Yes, thank you.”

The cook heads outside and Stern turns his attention to one of the displays, frowning more the longer he looks at it. 

“Found it. Bye, Boyd, don’t get into any trouble!” Dani calls as she follows Stern out the door. 

“Same to you, scamp. As for you, lad, something in particular you came to look at?”

“Not really. But, ah, do you have any postcards?” 

“Some, though they’re not fancy. Lady who ran this place before me...well, she was a tough old thing, but not the most creative at times.”

Indrid spins the display rack, “They are rather plain and, ah, perhaps 'retro' is the kindest way to put it?”

“They’re rubbish.”

“You’re not a very good salesman, are you?” 

“Never was my strong suit, but a bloke does what he must.”

“You know, I’ll be in town for some time. If you are interested, I could design you some new postcards. For pay, of course. “

Boyd crosses his arms, “depends on if your work is worth the money.”

Indrid doffs his sweatshirt, revealing the tattoos on his arms, “I designed everything you see here.”

Boyd smiles for the first time as he examines them, “Bloke after my own heart.” He rolls up his sleeve, revealing several tattoos, including initials and a classic, sailor Jerry style panther, “alright, come back tomorrow and we can talk it over. I got some meetings today that can’t wait.”

Indrid promises to return, spends the rest of his morning puttering about the library, decides to have lunch in town rather than in the campground. He can’t tell anyone--he’s had enough of people thinking he’s crazy to last a lifetime--but the woods near his trailer make him at once intrigued and uneasy. Even when the golden eyes and scratching claws are gone, he knows he's being watched.

\-------------------------------------------------

_The sky is tearing away. The lodge, the woods, the heart, it’s all disappearing. He needs to find someone. He needs to stop him. In the shattering world, he calls out to Indrid._

Duck falls out of the tree, catching himself with branches and vines halfway to the ground. 

He fucking knew it. Indrid isn’t just another human drifting into Kepler. He’s here for a reason. Now if only Duck could figure out what the fuck it is. 

In the three minutes it takes to move from his lookout spot to a tangle of shrubs nearer the trailer, Indrid has come out and sat down at the picnic table. Duck’s horns sprout leaves for added cover, and he coats his scales with moss to dull their shine.

The human draws, sips from a Capri Sun, draws some more. In the light, Duck sees patches of black peeking through the silver in his hair and, not for the first time, wishes he’d take off his glasses. He wants to see his face unobstructed, the color of his eyes. For research, of course. 

A rumble in the earth as a sleek, white van pulls up at Indrid’s campsite. The artist frowns, tucks his drawings into his notebook as a woman steps out of the vehicle. Her shirt, like the side of the van, reads, “Reconciliation, Inc: Building a Better World.”

Duck knows the way Indrid’s lips twitch, forcing themselves up only as a last resort. He doesn’t want the woman to be there. That’s something the two of them have in common. 

He’s too far away to hear them, watches Indrid straightening and subtlety leaning away from the woman as she talks. The trees don’t have ears,exactly, but Duck has his ways. Shutting his eyes, he finds the grass near the picnic table, then beneath Indrid’s feet and the feet of the interloper, using them to sense the tone of the conversation. Persuasion and pressure from the woman, distrust from the artist. 

Indrid shakes his head and the woman gives him the kind of smile one might direct at a child they think is being foolish. Nonetheless, she leaves him in peace. Indrid continues looking around once she leaves, nerves fluttering about him like flies, and soon disappears back into his trailer. 

Someone should check to see if he’s alright, and Duck is almost out of the treeline before he remembers why him doing so is a bad idea. Just as well, he can’t expend any more energy on Indrid today; he’s got bigger prey to find. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

“Christ, thought it’d never fuckin go down. Duck, mind checkin to make sure it’s all the way dead?” Mama keeps her shotgun on the prone abomination as Duck sends out a branch to poke it’s midsection. It stays limp and motionless. 

“Thank god.” Stern slips his ring back on, becoming a human with a bad gash on his cheek, “that was a nasty one. You okay, Boyd?” 

“Back hurts and the bloody thing snapped by blaster in two.” The man holds up the halves of his weapon, “which means we gotta pay you-know-who a visit.”

“Noooo” Dani groans, slumping against a tree, “I hate listening to you two haggle.”

“Well if that fuckin’ cat wouldn’t ask for such random things-”

“All the same” Vincent, the second oldest member of the Pine Guard after Mama, “I need something from him as well. The magical crossbow doesn’t pack the punch it used too.”

“Hell, that means he’ll want even more.” Boyd grumbles, motioning to Dani to hand him her arm so he can check the bruise on it. 

“Winthrop aside.” Stern turns to Duck, “is it just me or are they getting worse?”

“Nope, ain’t just you. Used to be me, Mama, you, and Vincent could take ‘em down in a day or two. Now we got all seven of us and we’re lucky if we get it in five days.”

“Don’t suppose either of you got any ideas?” Mama directs this at him and Aubrey.

“She...she don’t talk to me anymore. Don’t know if the connection died as she got sicker or, uh, somethin’ else.” Duck scratches the scales on his arm distractedly. 

“Aubrey?”

“She tries. If I go sit by the heart and really concentrate, maybe we can speak to each other. But she’s so, like, tired. Every time I reach out to her it’s fainter.” Aubrey takes Dani’s hand as she talks, stays standing as the blonde woman kneels down and touches the dead abomination. It’s body splits in two, fading away as a glowing, white form rises up and dissolves into the sky.

“Thanks, kiddo.” Mama ruffles Dani’s hair, drapes her arms protectively over both women, “can’t have that layin’ around for a certain someone to find.”

“Mama, I told you, he’s a hobbyist at best, not a threat.” Stern tries to slick his black hair back into a semblance of order. 

“Doubt your objectivity there a bit, partner.”

“ _He’s_ not putting video of my Sylph form where people can see it.” Stern snaps.

“O-kay, think everyone’s had enough for the night.” Duck sends a sapling up so Stern and Boyd can no longer glare right at each other, “don’t know about you, but I feel like goin’ home, puttin’ my feet up, and bein’ real fuckin grateful I ain’t dead.”

The group splits off in different directions towards their various homes. Vincent and Aubrey walk with Duck, since Vincent’s quonset hut is in the same general direction as Duck’s house. 

“I see that thought, Duck.”

“I, uh, I ain’t, uh, fuck, thinkin’-”

“There’s no way you can blame this on Indrid.”

He sighs, “I know. Startin to think I’m barkin’ up the wrong tree.”

“ _Finally_.”

“Startin’ was the operative word there, Lady Flame.”

“Speaking of theories, Aubrey, have you given any more thought to my suggestion?”

“Vincent, you know I love you and think you’re like super-smart, but looking for The Quell is a dead end. She’s been gone for over a hundred years.”

“But traces of her are still there. If I could just find them-”

“Take a lot of GORP to bribe Thacker into lettin’ you search the outlands.” Duck adds as they reach the hut, “given how many Sylphs think humans killed her.”

“I’m aware. Ah well, an idea for another day then. Goodnight.”

Vincent disappears into his house, and Aubrey waves goodbye, saying she’ll take the long way back to the lodge. Duck knows the fights are hard on her; the members of the House of Flame were the keepers of Sylvains heart, blessed with powerful veins of her magic. 

Aubrey is the last of her house. If she dies, Sylvain loses a major source of connection to her people. Yet his friend cannot stand aside and let the others fight the abominations without her. Duck understands more than she knows. 

His route homes take him past Eastwoods, Indrids trailer the lone dwelling. The bedroom light is still on, and Duck moves towards it without thinking. Cloaks all but his eyes in a cape of leaves and shadows when he reaches the front of the vehicle. 

The bedroom door opens and Indrid steps out in is pink and yellow pajamas. He jolts, fear clear in his posture, when he sees Duck’s eyes. Then he visibly sighs, and steps towards the front seats.

“What do you want?” His lilting voice, muffled by the windshield, is tired. 

Duck says nothing, holds his ground.

“If you need something from me, or have something to tell me, then for goodness sake say it. And if, if you’re here to kill me, kindly _get it over with already_!” 

Duck steps back, surprised, a bouquet of admiration and shame blooming in his chest at the anger on Indrid’s face. The human waits, breathing heavily and watching intently. When Duck does nothing else, he spins and stalks back into the bedroom, slamming the door. 

He tramps into the trees, chewing on the human’s actions all the way home. Why isn’t Indrid as afraid of him now? Does Duck even want him to be? Has he even learned all that much about the artist, save for his habits, diet, and general demeanor? 

No, no he hasn’t. 

He has no idea who Indrid Cold really is. 

\----------------------------------------------

The cardinals and larks sing Indrid awake. Honestly, he’s amazed he’s alive rather than strewn in pieces through the woods. He’ll have to wait until nightfall to see if the monster took the hint. Maybe he’ll stay in bed until then; the futures are still time-delayed and jumbled, he’s tired, and there’s no point in going into town or the lodge. He’s better off alone. 

He nurses this train of thought through four Poptarts, brushing crumbs from the bed onto the floor, one of the five songs he wants to listen to right now playing on a loop from his phone. 

_Knockknock_

Slower than an iceberg, he climbs out of bed and pads to the door. Opens it to find a man he doesn’t recognize giving him a once-over with bright green eyes. From his uniform, he must be one of Juno’s coworkers. 

“Can I help you?”

“Yep, got a few things to check over on your camp. Mind if I come inside?”

“Ah, oh, of course” he holds the door open, “come right in Mr…”

The man tosses him a friendly smile, “Newton. Duck Newton. It’s a nickname.”


	3. Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck takes a walk. Indrid looks for flowers. Stern gets some new grey hairs.

Ranger Newton takes off his hat as he steps into the trailer, “just need to make sure there ain’t any fire hazards or, uh, other hazards.” 

“I was not aware spot checks were part of staying here.”

“It’s uh, uh, fuck, uh, just for folks in this campground. Higher risk of, uh, certain things here.”

Indrid slumps against the counter as the ranger picks his way through the Winnebago. He’s shorter than Indrid, wider too. Tan skin and black hair with a few streaks of grey, enough wrinkles to suggest he’s a bit older than Indrid. He reminds him of a bear in more ways than one. Indrid’s always been fond of bear hugs, so to speak.

Goodness, if he's daydreaming about a stranger so quickly, he needs to sleep more. Clean more as well, given how the ranger is regarding his living space. He keeps ducking and shifting like he expects to knock things over, wrinkling his nose at the strewn papers and unwashed dishes.

“Ah, apologies. I wasn’t expecting company and so my home is a bit, ah, cluttered.”

“Eh, ain’t like my home’s the picture of minimalism.” Duck turns one of his space heaters over in his hands. 

“Oh?” Indrid cocks his head.

“Uh, just, lotsa plants.”

Indrid chuckles politely, “Fitting decor I suppose. I’d like to have a plant or two here but my previous attempts have not gone well.”

“Light’s probably the hard part in here. Speakin of which, need to take a look at the firepit.” As they step into the morning air his tone changes. Still cordial, but with real curiosity beneath it, “got any excitin plans for today, Mr. Cold?”

 _I am going to lay in bed and lock my sketchpad in the other room so I am not tempted to keep trying to understand things I will never grasp._

“I might go to the lodge for breakfast.”

“Mind if I walk with you? Was, uh, was up real late last night, in the mood for somethin myself.”

“I…” a little awkwardness would be worlds better than his own thoughts, “yes, that sounds fine. I, ah, I should probably put on pants that do not have a tear in the back.” As he steps up into Winnie, bathrobe still firmly on, he’s certain Ranger Newton is testing whether he has x-ray vision. 

A few minutes later he emerges in his street clothes, Duck flashing him an easy smile.

“Did a damn good job on puttin your fire out.”

“There are signs posted everywhere. I simply followed the directions.” Indrid points to one such sign as they pick up a trail that will lead them to Amnesty. 

“Take it you’re a Mothman fan?” The shorter man indicates Indrid’s sweater, which has a tiny mothman stitched in the upper left corner. 

“Yes. I, ah, I empathize with him. Seeing things coming and being unable to stop them is not an enviable position.” 

The ranger looks at him funny and he quickly changes course, “not to mention there are many pleasing items designed to look like him; I appreciate them as an artist, and it’s nice to have something more than dust collecting in my home. And before you ask; yes, I have been to point pleasant and yes, the statue does have an oddly perky behind.”

“The what has a what now?” The ranger giggles.

“The Mothman statue has a very nice ass.”

“Huh, that tracks I guess.”

“Have you never been? You seem like you’re local.”

“Never, uh, gotten out of Kepler.”

“I’m the opposite, I suppose. I’ve never stayed somewhere more than a year or so.” He winces, stops walking as he rubs his forehead, the ranger stopping with him, “Apologies, I’m not usually in the habit of turning every conversation to my own nomadic lifestyle.”

“S’okay.” A hand hesitates, then rests on his shoulder, “though I, uh, it kinda makes me wonder what you’re doin’ in Kepler.”

The tone is the wrong kind of casual and Indrid bristles, “as I have told practically everyone in this blasted place, I’m working as an artist.”

“Guess I put that wrong. I know what you’re doin now that you’re here but...why come here at all? Could be an artist just about anywhere, and Kepler’s a town two minutes away from bein’ swallowed back up by the woods. You coulda gone anywhere, but you chose here. Strikes me as strange.”

“The answer would strike you as stranger.” Indrid walks more purposefully towards the lodge, roof poking out through the treetops up ahead. Ranger Newton says nothing, but Indrid senses he’s waiting for him to continue. 

“....It came to me in, ah, a dream. Just the name. I woke up with my heart aching like something was pulling on it, and I knew I had to figure out what the name was attached to. I spent hours searching the internet, and when I found out about Kepler the town the ache stopped. It was a sign and, though I am not sure why, it is one I cannot ignore.”

“Huh.” 

It’s a thoughtful sound, not a derisive or confused one. When Indrid hazards a glance, the ranger is looking at him with interest. But he says nothing else, the trees intermittently rustling alongside them the only noise until they reach Amnesty.

“After you.” Ranger Newton drawls, holding the door and following Indrid to a pleather booth. Barclay comes after a moment, taking their order as the other man downs his water. 

“O-kay, I got the strawberry pancakes with extra whipped cream and the french onion omelette. Oh, uh, you guys paying together or…?”

“Just one check will be fine. Mr. Newton was nice enough to accompany me here, the least I can do is buy him breakfast.” Indrid does not add that he wants to make up for being such a downer on their walk, and perhaps convince the ranger he can indeed act like a normal human. 

“Get no complaints from me. And just Duck is fine.”

A clatter makes them both turn towards the lobby door; Stern his on his knees, picking his clipboard up from the floor. When he’s done, he makes a beeline for their table. 

“Indrid! Glad to see you again. If you don’t mind, I need to borrow Duck here for a moment; Mama and I want to expand the garden, but we need to make sure we’re not accidentally encroaching on the forest.”

Indrid nods but Stern is already ushering Duck out the door. He shrugs, and continues dumping sugar packets into his coffee. 

\------------------------

“What are you _doing_?” Stern hisses the instant he shuts the office door. 

“Followin’ a hunch.”

“You’ve resisted taking a human form for decades, but you’ll have one whipped up overnight thanks to a _hunch_? I need a moment.” Stern rubs his temples, studies the rug for several breaths. 

“I can’t shake the feelin’ that there’s somethin’ important, and I’m talkin, end of two worlds important, about him. Plus, watchin him from the shadows was scarin’ him.” 

“Watching him isn’t a problem. Talking with him is because, need I remind you, you cannot lie to save you life. I’m amazed you made it from the campgrounds to here without revealing everything.”

“Hey, gimme some fuckin’ credit. Yeah, I can’t lie, but I don’t need to. People’ll fill in blanks all by themselves if you give ‘em a chance. Long as I’m careful about choosin’ my words, he ain’t gonna know anythin’ we don’t want him to. Might think I’m awkward or I think hard before I speak, and I can live with that. Ain’t like he’s gonna ask point blank if I’m a really a seven foot tall monster.”

“Not so loud.” Stern opens the door quickly, peers out, then shuts it again with a sigh, “I’m not going to try and stop you, Duck. I’m sorely tempted to try, but I won’t. I’ll let the others know so they’re aren’t surprised and accidentally say something they shouldn’t. What’s your cover story?”

Duck points to his uniform. 

“Where did you even get that?”

“Juno lent it to me. I, uh, she saw me one time, couple years ago, and we made a deal that she’d keep quiet if I helped warn her if somethin was gonna go haywire in the woods. Ain’t even a lie to say I’m workin as a ranger; they cut their staff a few months back and she gave me a whole list of things that need to get done.”

“That cannot be legal.”

Duck crosses his arms, “we wanna talk about that drivers license of yours?”

“Alright, alright, point taken. Just be careful. Please. I know you know what’s at stake, including how pissed Mama will be if you blow everything, so I won’t belabor that. But if Indrid really is something more than he seems, be careful with that too. And with him.”

“I will, Joe. You got my word as a guardian.”

“That’ll have to do.” He starts turning the nob, but Duck stops him. 

“Wait, hold up, I gotta know” he steps back, spins slowly, “what do you think of human me?”

“It suits you, somehow. Did you pick it or did Winthrop?”

“I did. It was hard to picture myself not lookin like me, but I got there.” 

“I’m just glad you lost the eye-glow. Some Sylphs forget that and have to go back for a re-do.” Stern gives him one last look of fond worry, “Now come on, hate for you to miss your breakfast.”

As they head down the hall, Duck catches sight of himself in the glass of a painting on the wall and wonders, idly, if Indrid likes this form as much as he does. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Duck stares at the tree health chart Juno gave him, then back up at the ailing birch. If he heals all the sick specimens he’s found, that could lead to some unwanted questions down the road. The illness isn’t one that will spread to the other trees and threaten his woods, and so he decides to leave it be, note that it’s condition is much the same. 

A sensation reaches him through the trees; someone looking for something. Someone who is humming. 

He knows that hum. After several days of “bumping” into Indrid, he even knows which song it is. He turns, waits for Indrid to round the curve in the trail.

“Duck! I was hoping I’d find you. I require a ranger’s assistance.”

“That so?” Duck leans against the tree trunk, hopes the drawl combined with the pose looks confident and casual.

“Do you happen to know if there are any yellow ladies slippers blooming around here? I have a request for a tattoo of one, but none of the pictures or illustrations I’ve tried for reference are quite working.”

There aren’t. Duck knows the colder winter has led to a late emergence for some of the plants. 

He flicks his wrist as he stretches and pushes off the tree, “think there might be a patch or two already up. Follow me.”

Indrid hurries to catch up with him, sketchbook in hand. He does it so automatically and eagerly that Duck finds old urges surfacing, thoughts of what an obedient human could be good for. He whacks those thoughts on the head until they scurry back into the corners of his mind. 

“Ah hah, there we are.”

Indrid flaps his free hand and plops down on the side of the trail, “Wonderful, I’ve been looking all morning with no luck. Seems all I needed was the right guide.” Indrid grins at him before picking up his pen.

“I, uh, I do, uh, what I can.” He watches Indrid draw for a moment, but the human is so engrossed in his works it’s as if the world around him is gone. Duck turns back down the trail, leaving him in peace. 

When he returns an hour later, Indrid’s drawing is nearly done, but the silver-haired man is no longer looking at the flowers; he’s watching, enrapt, as a hummingbird buzzes back and forth across the small patch of meadow. Each time it lands to drink or preen, Indrid’s smile turns starlight-bright. 

There’s a tiny pool of leftover dew in a tree stump. When Indrid isn’t looking, Duck coaxes a bright red flower to grow right by the pool. The bejeweled pollinator eventually reaches it, then spots the water. It lands, and proceeds to take a bath. 

Indrid’s hands flap again (it reminds Duck of a moth, the way they flutter) and he laughs, delighted. The sound cuts straight through Duck's chest, so hard and sharp he’s amazed he’s still whole rather than in two.

Indrid spots him, waves him over excitedly. Wordlessly, Duck sits down in the earth beside him. As Indrid continues studying the bird, Duck surreptitiously studies him and wonders how he ever saw him as anything other than a wonderful addition to the forest. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Indrid hums “Call me, Maybe” as he clicks on his flashlight, the canopy rendering the remaining twilight moot. A nighttime walk hadn’t occurred to him until a few days ago, when Duck described just how many things one could see in the woods if they went after dark that were hidden during the day. 

As with so many things having to do with the forest, Duck’s suggestion is spot-on. Indrid picks up an owl call (though fails to find it’s source), spots what he thinks is a flying squirrel, and sits happily on a boulder near some white flowers that have attracted the attention of moths. He pulls out his notebook, jotting down some ideas for a new design. 

He initially felt intimidated by Duck’s knowledge of the forest, the ranger seeming a fount of knowledge while Indrid was an artist without much to offer. But yesterday, Duck had come to eat lunch with him, and spotted his more recent drawings. 

_“Holy shit, ‘Drid.” The ranger picks up an illustration of the forest’s edge, “this is incredible. It’s so...how the fuck do you get all that depth, all the detail?”_

_“Light and perspective does a great deal. As does this fancy pencil set I bought myself as a birthday present.”_

_“Damn” Duck lovingly traces the page, “y’make it look so real. You managed to get how complex and beautiful it is in one damn go.”_

_Indrid squirms under the praise, “I wanted to convey the way in which a forest is both one organism and a multitude of them. So many presents and futures moving and shifting together to make a living, breathing thing that is greater than each piece.”_

_“Ain’t ever heard someone put it that way. You really get it, ‘Drid. Not everyone does.”_

A moth lands on his glasses, whisking him out of his recollection. Continuing down the path, he comes across four fellow hikes at a “Y” in the road. Given their muted clothing and bag of what is clearly gear of some kind, they must be photographers. As he’s passing them, one of the men signals for him to stop. 

“Excuse me, but we heard there was a bobcat den somewhere in this area. Have you by chance seen any.”

Indrid shakes his head, “I haven’t seen any moving about, but I know where the den is. Ah, more or less.”

Duck showed it to him two days ago, beaming all the while. 

The photographers follow him along the left fork of the trail, then down the smaller offshoot to the right. Even with the flashlight, it’s tricky to find landmarks in the dark and soon he’s slowing, peering about to locate the tree that had a gall resembling a jellyfish. Duck had giggled when Indrid pointed out the resemblance. 

“Ah, there you are.” He waves the others over, “this is as far as I can show you. I know the den is off the trail a little ways that way, so if you’re patient, you may get lucky and see the mother coming or going.”

“Excellent. Here, for your trouble” the man produces his wallet and hands Indrid a hundred dollars as if it were a penny, “quickly now, get our things out.”

“Yes, Mr. Heathcliffe.” The man carrying the bag sets it down and unzips it to reveal two sleek hunting bows. 

“Ah, on second thought, you should take this back” Indrid holds out the bill, “I just realized I used the wrong trail marker to get here. You, ah, you shouldn’t pay me for leading you to the wrong place.”

“Come now, we both know that’s a lie. And what’s a little poaching in the grand scheme of things?”

“It’s-”

A tremendous crack as a tree branch comes down on the bows, slamming them into the dirt over and over until they’re no more than shards.

“What in the world-”

Another branch swings out, catching the man on the shoulder.

“To hell with this, we can buy a bobcat and hunt it on the estate, now run.”

The quartet takes off back down the trail. Indrid’s future sight gets just enough ahead to tell him he won’t be following them, but not how to avoid that outcome.

Vines shoot out of the darkness and the world is upside down. 

Indrid clutches at his glasses to keep them on, tries to grab the flashlight hat fell from his pocket. There’s a growl. He switches to tugging at the vines around his ankles. All they do is raise him higher, until he’s face to face with a pair of golden eyes. 

“I knew it.” The voice is like cracking bark, like wind howling through the trees. The rest of the face is in shadow, but Indrid is going to go out on a limb and assume the monster is frowning at him. 

“Kn-knew what?” Indrid squeaks, drawing his hands against his chest. 

“Knew you were like the rest of ‘em. Damn fool.” The voice is tinged with hurt and the ghost of regret.

“I, I’m not with them, I swear, I would never harm the woods or the animals.”

“Liar.” The growl deepens, the vines tighten, “you led ‘em right to the den.”

“I didn’t know what they were doing. I thought they just, just wanted a chance to see. Please” Indrid shuts his eyes, unwilling to look death in the face just yet, “please, I didn’t know, please believe me, I'm sorry, please don’t, don’t-” 

A flutter across his brow. 

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m-” he opens his eyes and discovers a moth flying up and down in front of the monster’s face.

“This fella is vouchin for you.” One clawed hand lowers through the air and the vines set Indrid on the forest floor. They stay wrapped around him as the creature adds, “you better tread careful, little moth.”

Then they’re gone and there’s no growling breath, no hulking figure when Indrid rolls over. It takes three tries to get his legs to stand, for his freeze reflex to become flight. 

He runs all the way home, tripping on more than a few roots as he constantly looks behind him. The Winnebago may as well be paper for how safe he feels in it. Indrid throws the blankets over himself, mothman huddled to his chest as he curls into a ball, and wonders if he’ll ever feel safe outside again.


	4. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck gives some gifts. Indrid tries to flirt. Barclay gets his wish.

The guilt hits as soon as Indrid disappears from view. Gnaws its way through Duck’s guts as he trudges home, his fury at the poachers eclipsed by frustration at himself. He tries to direct it at Indrid; he should have known Heathcliffe and the others weren’t on the level, should know that Duck has every reason to be suspicious of men who make the energy of his forest pull tighter than a branch seeking sunlight. 

The guilt chews right through those excuses, makes a nice little nest for itself in his chest as he falls asleep, only to be replaced by fear when he awakens.

What if Indrid got so afraid he left the campground? Or Kepler?

The Winnebago is still there, but Duck doesn’t feel much better as his knock goes unanswered. 

“Indrid?” He rests his ear to the cool metal of the door. 

“The door is open.” Indrid must be at the far back of the trailer, his voice soft. Drawings crunch under Duck’s feet as frantic scribbling comes from the bedroom. 

“Heeey, ‘drid. You, uh, you doin’ okay?”

The other man glares at him over his glasses, “Do I appear to be?”

“Y-n-, uh, you workin’ on a project?” He takes in the drawings on the small bed, many of which are of the forest and of Indrid himself in conversation with various people. The images are fuzzier than his usual clean lines, as if he had trouble getting the picture right. 

“I’m avoiding the fact that the remaining tattoo commission is of a type of purple-fringed orchid supposedly native to the boggier parts of the forest.”

Duck thinks for a moment, then snaps his fingers, “think I know where to find some, there’s a even a-”

“No!” Indrid’s head swivels about, first to the window and then to Duck, his glasses slipping enough to show brown eyes wide with terror, “nono, I, I, I’m not welcome in the forest, not safe. I’m not going back in unless it’s a matter of life and death and even then I will think twice.” His gaze is fixed out the window now as he curls in on himself, tugging at the ends of the blanket as he draws it around him.

Then he turns back to the bed, tossing drawings aside and muttering, “must be able to see it coming, for once, be useful for once.” Even then he continues looking out the window every ten seconds. Each time he does, a new crack forms in Duck’s heart; yesterday he looked at the woods with fondness, and Duck’s inability to think about things for two seconds stole that from him.

“‘Drid” he murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed, “what if we went together?”

It’s too close to lying, pretending not to know what happened, and if he has to keep it up much longer, he’s going to be sick. 

Indrid stiffens, shakes his head, “nono, it, it might hurt you too.”

“W-, uh, what, uh, fuck, what would?” His voice creeps up and he hopes Indrid interprets it as fear. 

“You, you’ll think I’ve lost it. Or that I'm lying.”

“I won’t.”

Indrid takes off his glasses, head drooping so silver hair covers his face, as he recounts last night from his perspective. Laughs weakly as he finishes, “thank goodness the moths like me.”

“No kiddin’.” Duck’s organs are migrating up his body, except for his heart, which is in his shoes, “‘Drid, I, uh, I believe you. There’s...there’s uh, things in those woods. The kind a, uh, a lotta folks think ain’t real. And I ain’t gonna pretend all of ‘em are friendly.”

“That is only marginally comforting.”

Duck focuses for a moment, choosing his words. He knows Indrid will wait, knows Indrid will listen, and he cannot fuck this sentence up. 

“What I can do is promise you that the, uh, the fella who scared you last night. He, uh, fuck, long as you’re with me, he ain’t gonna hurt you. I, uh, I been workin’ these woods a long-ass time. Plus, he, uh, for all we know he’s real fuckin’ sorry for the misunderstandin.”

“‘Tread carefully, little moth’ is rather unambiguous as far as warnings go.”

“Yeeeah.” As much as it stings to hear those words echoed in Indrid’s tried voice, it saves him from a fatal error; he was about to call Indrid that name again, just to see what he’d say.

_“Don’t worry, little moth, I’m right here. I’ll take care of you.”_

“I...you’re a terrible liar, and don’t try to deny it, I watched you a few days ago when Barclay asked if you had enough cash on you to pay for lunch.”

“Thanks for that by the way.”

“Which is why I’m trusting you on this. But if I get torn apart by a tree monster or something, I assure you I will make for a truly obnoxious ghost while haunting you.” Life returns to his voice, and Duck does what he can to feed it.

“You got a deal, ‘Drid.”

He waits outside while the artist gathers his supplies and changes out of yesterday’s clothes, emerging in a white tank-top and grey sweatpants, his pink and yellow sweater wrapped around his shoulders. To help him feel at ease, Duck chooses a route that skirts the treeline of the deeper woods, winding them past the next campground. This one remains colonized by Reconciliation, Indrid frowning when one of the white-clad, well-scrubbed employees waves at him.

“I wish they wouldn’t be so...familiar.”

“They been botherin’ you?”

“Not exactly. They keep coming over ostensibly to say hello to a fellow camper. But they’re always asking if I’d like to work with them, how I’m enjoying the town and the woods, then give me this look like I’ve given the wrong answer when I tell them the truth. Then whenever I ask them what their work even is, I get some nonsense answer like, ‘ensuring a peaceful tomorrow.’”

“Real fancy words for ‘tearin down the woods a'int they?”

“That’s what they’re doing? Why?”

“Dunno. They been puttin pressure on the city and county for months to let ‘em start tearin’ up the forest. They got some kind of permit from the feds, but Juno and a few other folks worked out how to stall ‘em. So they’re just sittin here, waitin for their chance and tryin’ to sweet talk anyone they can over to their side. Alright, we gotta turn into the forest proper to get any further. You ready?”

“Not really. I, ah, maybe we should-”

Muscle memory makes him extend his hand, “would holdin’ onto me help?”

Indrid hesitates, then links their hands, and Duck feels him relax at the contact. They make it to the boardwalk over the bog without incident, Indrid finding a sunny patch in which to sit and draw. Duck stays next to him, studies the plants or watches the clouds as Indrid works, identifies the sounds in the grounded cover and tree tops when Indrid tenses at a noise. All the while he follows the threads of energy in the forest, watching for signs of trouble; just because it’s a weekend doesn’t mean he’s off duty as a guardian. 

Everything is peaceful, thrumming and humming along as a forest should. He closes his eyes, tips his hat over them for shade, and dozes off. 

A weight rests on his belly as Indrid murmurs, “I’m just resting my eyes for a moment.”

Duck smiles, “Whatever you need, ‘Drid. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

“Whelp, I don’t see any more ramps here. Should we move on or head back?” Aubrey turns to Dani, who looks at their baskets. 

“Hmmm, let’s try one more spot?”

“Works for me! Indrid, you coming?”

“One moment!” He finishes sketching the future he’s working on and shuts his book. He’s found that while the futures still aren’t working as they used to, it’s easier to make them come if he’s somewhere he feels safe. Hence his agreeing to come with Dani and Aubrey as they forage for ramps. 

He hops off the log, “After all, I told Boyd I’d ‘chaperone’ you.” He grins as Aubrey laughs and Dani rolls her eyes. 

“He takes his role as honorary dad very seriously.”

“Ah, so he is not your father in the traditional sense.”

This time Dani laughs as well, “Do you see literally any resemblance between us?”

“No. But genetics and adoption alike make that a semi-useless metric.”

Dani takes the second basket so Aubrey can hoist a tired Dr. Harris Bonkers into her arms, “I, uh, went through some rough stuff a few years back and ended up on the road on my own. I was hitchhiking on the outskirts of town and he picked me up. After a twenty minute lecture on how dangerous it was, he asked if I had anywhere to stay or if I needed any money and then ended up putting me up in the spare room. I know he’s, well, y’know, _Boyd_ and all gruff and stuff, but it’s like he’s got this protective, loyal streak that needs somewhere to go.”

Indrid nods in understanding, Boyd jumping several levels in his esteem. Then he notes where the sun is in the sky and turns, “ah, I know I said I would keep you company, but do either of you have the time?”

Dani checks her watch, “Like a little before six?”

“Ah! I promised to meet Duck for dinner. I’m sorry, good luck with the ramps, goodbye!”

He hurries away towards Eastwoods. Aubrey turns to look at Dani. 

“I give it two weeks before they’re dating.”

“Three. Duck can actually be kinda shy.” Aubrey scratches the rabbits ears. 

Dr. Harris Bonkers snuffles something that translates, roughly, to, “I give it four. They’re absolute dingdongs.”

\----------------------------------------------------

“Hey, uh, I got you this. Since you said you been wantin’ one.”

“Oh!” Indrid flaps his hands at the sight of the small, deep green plant, “it’s wonderful. I hope it survives.”

“Should. I, uh, ma-uh, it’s a kind that don’t need anythin' besides, uh, air? To survive.”

“Ohhhh” Indrid nods, taking the pot and gingerly carrying it to the windowsill in the kitchen, “I’ve heard of those. Funny, the ones I’ve seen look different.”

“It’s, uh, um, special?”

Indrid smiles as he looks at the plant, “it’s not the only thing here that is.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Here, Leo was finally able to order me a frame the right size. You can get a lot from a general store if you ask nicely, it seems.” Indrid bites his lip as Duck unwraps the rectangle.

“It’s, holy shit ‘Drid, this is that drawin’ of yours I love.”

“Yes. You were so fond of it, it seemed silly to let it get buried in my trailer when it could instead be with you.”

“That’s so fuckin sweet, sugar.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Uh, um, fuck, it, it was sweet like, like fuck, how sugar is?” Duck’s cheeks are near combustion.

Indrid smirks, “Of course. Very sweet indeed.”

\------------------------------------------

“I have to say, this has been remarkably un-catastrophic.”

“Gee, thanks.” Duck deadpans, taking the beer Stern offers him. He likes earth beer--it tastes like plants in the right kind of way. 

“Indrid isn’t suspicious at all?”

“Nope. Far as he’s concerned, I’m juts a normal fella who sees him as friend-ish, fuck, type, uh, fuck, only a, fuck, friend.”

“You’re falling for him, aren’t you?” There’s no judgement in Stern’s tone.

“Yep. Fuck, Joe, I, this is the closest I’ve felt to how, to, y’know?” He prays his friend understands his garbled words, all he can manage to say without serious consequences.

“I get it, don’t worry. And don’t try to say more; I’d hate to watch what, if memory serves was a full day of spellwork, go to waste.”

“What do I do? I mean, what are you doin’ for Barclay?”

“Nothing.”

“Joe.”

His friend laughs sheepishly “Sorry, reflex from talking to Mama. Ive mostly been bringing him little gifts, things to help his room feel more homey.”

“Like a den?” 

“Shut up.” Stern blushes, “I just want him to know I’m falling for him as a whole person, quirks and all. Not that it matters.” He draws glum circles on his glass, “I found out more about why he’s traveling. He’s broke, yes, but he’s also an avid, amateur cryptozoologist.”

“Uh oh.”

A snort, “Exactly. If I’m not careful, I could end up getting images of us spread everywhere and, hell, I don’t know, have the FBI on our doorstep because of my silly crush.”

“Hey” Duck touches his hand, “maybe, even if he finds out, he’ll like you enough to keep his mouth shut.”

“I appreciate the thought. But no; if he manages to get a picture of any Sylph, we're screwed."

\--------------------------------------------

“Gonna do some stargazin?”

“I haven’t decided. Depends on what other options I’m presented with for, ah, passing the evening.” Indrid holds Duck’s gaze long enough to watch him lick his lips before turning back to the fire, “s’more? I have plenty of supplies.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Duck plunks down in the spare chair Indrid set out, spearing a helpless marshmallow before setting a small package wrapped in tissue paper on the ground between them. 

“What’s-”

A future appears and he bites his lip to keep from spoiling Duck’s desire to surprise him. 

“Just a little somethin’ i thought you might like.”

Indrid tears into the wrapping, and is delighted to find an enamel mug with an artfully done drawing of mothman on it.

“Saw it when I was visitin’ Boyd today and instantly thought of you.”

The thought of Duck seeing something and thinking specifically of him has affection coiling around Indrid’s heart.

“Thank you. I love it.”

“Glad to hear it, sugar.”

The roast marshmallows in silence for a time. One of Indrid’s favorite things about spending time with Duck is that he feels as comfortable in quiet with him as he does in conversation. But just because they’re not speaking doesn’t mean they’re not paying attention to each other. When he accidentally molten sugar oozing down one hand, he sticks his thumb into his mouth to clean it and soothe the slight burn. As he pulls it out, he’s certain Duck is watching him even more intently. And so he cleans each remaining finger a bit slower, licking and sucking and sighing as if he hasn’t the faintest idea what he’s really doing. 

His concerns about the ranger being uninterested go up with the smoke when Duck waits until Indrid's head is turned towards him to adjust his pants, drawing his attention to the obvious tent in them. 

“You know, I’m feeling a bit chilly. Perhaps I’ll head inside after all.”

“Be right behind you, soon as I make sure this is out.”

Indrid sets the mug in a cabinet and paces, nerves flaring up and diving back down, until the door creaks open.

“Y’know…” Duck shuts the door, locking it, “since we ain’t stargazin’, I’m gonna need somethin else to, uh, feast my eyes on.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Indrid leans back against the counter as Duck steps in front of him. 

“Would sure like a look at this heavenly body.” Hands drag up and down his sides as a low growl leaves Duck’s throat. 

Indrid snickers through his gasps, “That was almost suave.”

“Thanks, stole it from Aubrey.” Duck grins, resting their foreheads together, nails kneading into Indrid’s skin through his shirt, “but that don’t change how true it is.”

Indrid leans down.

The whole trailer jerks, as if a giant punched it. At the same instant, Duck falls to his knees, clutching his head. 

“Fuck, fuck, I can’t feel a thing, what the _fuck_?”

“It’s alright, I’ve got you, here, let’s-” A horrible screech of claws on metal, five eyes glittering in the darkness outside a nearby window. 

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Good thinkin’, fuck, what the fuck is that thing doin’ here _now_?”

“Trying to kill us. What is with this forest.”

“Ain’t the forest doin’ this. I think. Fuck, ow.” He’s still holding his head as Indrid runs to the driver’s seat. 

“I’ll pay for whatever damage to the hookups this does.” He guns the engine before speeding forward, the whole frame juddering as whatever is attacking them takes a swipe at the trailer’s back end. 

“Lodge, go to the Lodge!” Duck justs manages to tumble into the passenger seat as they rumble through the dark. Five eyes are still visible in the side mirrors, and they’re not getting further away. 

“Should we really be leading it to them?”

“We’re leadin’ it to Mama, ow, it’s different.”

“If you say soOH what the hell was that?” A flash of fire shoots past them as the lodge comes into view. 

“Please just focus on not crashin’.” Duck is groaning now, curled into a ball. As soon as the trailer crunches to a stop in the gravel parking lot, Vincent is hurrying outside.

“He’s sick, or hurt, I’m not sure, one minute he was fine and the next he wasn’t, we should call an ambulance, right?” Indrid looks at the older man pleadingly as he helps him carry Duck inside. 

“Let’s get him into a bed first, see what the damage is.”

“No fuckin damage, fuckin, fuckin’ abomination.”

“People get delirious when they’re hurt.” Vincent opens an empty room towards the back half of the first floor, “can you keep an eye on him? I’m gonna go get Aubrey, I hope.”

“You _hope_? Wait, what am-”

Vincent is gone, and Indrid slumps onto the bed. 

“If you’re lookin’ for things to do, holdin me would be mighty helpful.” 

Indrid flops onto his side, taking Duck in his arms.He strokes his back, listens for signs of something in his lungs or chest as his breathing evens out.”

“Think, think it’s easin’ up some. Fuck me that sucked.”

“I’m so glad you’re alright.” Indrid cuddles him closer, “the thought of not being able to help you was more frightening than that monster. Which, to be clear, was terrifying.”

“You did good.” Duck pats his cheek, “try’n rest, sugar. That kinda scare can wipe a fella out.”

The door opens behind them.

“But what if you feel worse again, what if you need me?”

Duck’s gaze drifts over Indrid’s shoulder, “I’ll know right where to find you. Now sleep.”

Something pulls a heavy curtain over his eyes, and he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

He wakes up and panics for the fifteen seconds it takes the note on his chest to flutter where he notices it. 

_Indrid,_

_Had to leave early for work. Feeling way better. Promise I’ll be back soon and we can pick up where we left off, if you want._

_-Duck._

Indrid sighs, relaxes back onto the bed with a relieved smile. 

Soon. He can live with soon.

\-----------------------------------------------

“It’s been three days and there's been no sign of him! I feel like I’m going to lose my mind from worry.” Indrid bounces nervously on Barclay’s bed. 

“I mean, he said it was a work thing, right? Maybe it was a longer project than he thought it’d be. Although…”

Indrid cocks his head, “what?”

“Indrid I gotta be honest; before you walked in with him, I’d never seen Duck before. Never even heard of him from the others. Which is hella weird, given that they’re friends. And, look, I know I don’t know everyone in town, but I’ve seen most of them either here or around Kepler. But not Duck.”

“You think he’s not who he says he is?” 

“I’m not sure what I think. But something feels weird.”

Indrid frowns, memories of the last few weeks swirling in his head.

“Then again, maybe I’ve finally tipped from cryptozoologist to conspiracy theorist.” Barclay’s tone tries for jovial and juuust misses it. Indrid decides to do the rest for him. 

“If you start talking about the Illuminati rather than bigfoots or werewolves, I’m leaving.” He teases. 

“All I’m saying is that the video Boyd took is too good to be a fake.”

“After everything I’ve seen, I’m inclined to believe you.” Barclay is the only other person he’s told about his run in with the poachers and the monster that chased them off. He figured someone who wore a “Bigfoot is Real” t-shirt to bed was unlikely to scoff at him. 

“I still wish you’d been able to get a photo of it.”

“I don’t. I would like to never see it again. Besides, what would I do with it other than try to get people to believe me? I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”

“I mean, I’d mostly want the money that came with it. Not in a, like, ‘ooh I’m gonna catch and exploit the rare animal way.’ Just, y’know, sell the photo to the highest bidder and have enough money to start my own restaurant. Or, like, to stay in Amnesty but not be living in fear that if something happens to the lodge, I’m back to sleeping in my car until I can find another gig.”

“Or to buy Joseph something fancy?” 

“Yeah. Also that.” Barclay finishes putting together his satchel, “okay, you ready to be my camera guy?”

“As long as you aren’t expecting Oscar-worthy camera work, then yes.”

“Just point it at me and the plants and we should be fine.”

They set off into the woods behind Amnesty, Indrid doing his best to get some B-roll. He’s still nervous about the forest, but Barclay is not a small man, and Indrid has faith the two of them could make a decent go of protecting each other. 

They’re in the woods to shoot part one of a cooking video, something Barclay has been doing to draw slightly more traffic to the restaurant. The plan is for Barclay to forage ingredients tonight (his night off), then prepare something with them tomorrow for part two.

Indrid is soon enjoying himself; he likes listening to his friend describe wild ingredients and all the delicious things one can make with them. He just wishes they;d brought something to snack on. He’s starving. 

Barclay finishes talking about dandelions and they start an arcing path back towards the lodge. Indrid is still looking through the lens in case they discover something else worth recording. As they enter a clearing, they get it. 

A huge, dark shape is surveying the ground. When it hears them, it’s head snaps up, eyes reflecting Barclay’s flashlight. It rises onto it’s back feet and Indrid drops the camera, Barclay scrambling to pick it back up. 

A werewolf. An honest to god werewolf. 

A werewolf that is looking directly at them. 

“We should run.” He hisses. 

“Yep.”

They take off back through the trees. A growl ricochets off the trees behind them, and is followed by the thudding, rapid footfalls of the beast giving chase.


	5. Monsters in the Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck plays host. Barclay takes a hit. Indrid visits a treehouse.

“We gotta split up!”

“WHAT?”

“It’s” Barclay flinches a the growl gets closer, “it’s our best bet, fuck, Indrid, I’m so sorry. On three. One, two-”

On “three” Indrid breaks to the right and Barclay to the left, both barreling off the trail and into the underbrush. Judging by the direction of the louder crashing a moment later, the werewolf chose to chase Barclay. 

Indrid needs to get back to the lodge, or just to town, to anyone, he has to help his friend but he has no idea where in the woods he is. He stops, takes shuddery breaths as he looks for a large stick. He has to go back.

Spotting a suitable weapon, Indrid reaches down. And then the world spins as vines shoot out from the ground and nearby trees, twisting and turning him sideways. He hisses in frustration, nails scraping at the plants to free himself. 

“Now is _not the time!_ ” He snaps into the darkness, “my friend is about to be eaten and I need to help him so put me down.”

“Eaten by what?” The golden eyes appear, the voice still deep and cracking like strong bark.

“A werewolf. Please, I need to help Barclay.”

The vines gently lower him to his feet. 

“What did the, uh, werewolf look like?”

“Like a fucking werewolf!”

A chuckle, “No, I mean what color? And did have any, uh, extra limbs or eyes or shit like that?”

“Black and no.”

“Your friend’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because I know these woods real well, and the creatures that come and go in it and I know who’s a threat and who ain’t. Besides, if it wanted to kill him, we’d be hearin’ him scream from here.”

Indrid holds his breath, terrified of what might come through the night air. But there’s nothing other than insects and birds calling to one another. 

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry about the vines. We’re near my house, so I got a lot of security in place to keep folks from gettin too close. Plus, even if that, uh, that werewolf ain’t a threat, there are somethings out this deep in the woods you don’t wanna mess with. If you wanna come back with me and wait out the night, you can.”

For the first time, Indrid meets the golden gaze and holds it, searching for signs of dishonesty, “You’re certain he’s alright?”

“Positive.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s fucked. 

Strong claws connect with his back and knock him to the ground. Ripping fabric and short, aggravated growls fill the air as the monster paws at him, rolling him this way and that. He curls in on himself, protecting the camera and his vital organs.

“Where is it?” The wolf snarls in his ear.

“Wh-where is what?”

“The camera.”

“I, it’s.” Another growl, a clawed hand tightening on the back of his neck and he realizes that even if he hands the camera over, he’s a dead man if he doesn’t get away from this thing first.

“I don’t have a camera, so fuck off.” He kicks his foot back, catching the wolf in the ribs, and starts crawling away through the dirt. The werewolf yelps, grabs his ankle and drags him back, caging him under it’s body. He throws an elbow, gets his wrists pinned beneath one massive paw for his trouble.

“Give. Me. the. Camera.”

With mounting terror, he understands that a fight is pointless. 

“Inside pocket of my jacket. Please” the werewolf flips him over, rifles under his coat, “please, just take it and let me go. I, I really don’t wanna die, I haven’t even gotten to ask Joseph out yet.”

The werewolf, camera in hand, blinks at him, “Joseph?”

“Uh huh, uh, he’s, he’s sorta the manager of the place, he listens to me when I talk about foodie stuff and my dream restaurant, and he’s really funny and I, I really like him, and I wanna ask him out, which I can’t do if you eat me, and uh-”

“If you wanted to ask him, why haven’t you?” The werewolf crosses it’s arms, sitting back on its heels. The disapproving look on it’s face suggests it’s waiting for an answer, and said answer better be good.

“Be-cause I, um, I’m not totally sure how he feels about me. Sometimes he’s really friendly and flirty, then he gets kinda stand-offish. I just don’t want him to feel uncomfortable around me, or like I’m pushing him into a weird position. But if you don’t kill me, I swear I’ll ask him to dinner, first thing tomorrow.”

“That won’t be necessary.” The wolf leans closer, teeth gleaming in a grin.

“Fuck.” Barclay squeaks, shutting his eyes. He really doesn’t want to see his organs leave his body.

The clawed hand cups his chin and he gasps, tries to scramble back and can’t.

“Look at me, Barclay.” The command is quiet.

He does, peeking out from his lashes to see the wolf gazing at him with clever, blue eyes. 

“Joseph?”

The wolf nods, but doesn’t let go of his chin.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

Stern lets go and sighs, prolonged and put-upon, “No, I’m not. I just needed to get this” he holds up the camera, “and there’s really no way to chase someone in this form that doesn’t make them think I want to eat them. But I couldn’t risk you getting away and someone seeing that footage. I never wanted to hurt you or Indrid, or even frighten you.”

“But aren’t werewolves supposed to be, like, mindless killers when they transform?”

That disapproving look is back, “In pop culture, yes. In reality, no. And we don’t need the moon to transform either. We just look like this.” He gazes at Barclay, fangs showing in a smile, “Now, do you have something you want to ask me?”

Barclays brain stalls out and Sterns shoulders fall, his ears flatten, and he stares at the forest floor.

“It’s alright if you’re not interested in me after learning what I am. I understand. I’m not really boyfriend material like this, now am I?” He says softly. 

Barclay recognizes the way his face struggles to stay neutral; he’s seen it happen a few times when the other man got bad news. The same is true of the way he’s running his fingers through the fur on his head, just as Stern does to his hair when he’s thinking over a problem. It’s odd, seeing the mannerisms he loves mapped onto such an intimidating form. Odd, but endearing.

Barclay reaches out, touches his fingers to Sterns left arm, “Hey.”

Stern looks at him, ears perking up.

“You wanna grab dinner with me tomorrow?”

“Yes.” He takes Barclays hand in both of his, fur lush and radiating warmth, “I kept hoping you’d ask, even if I knew it was better that you didn’t get too close to me.”

“Because of the whole werewolf thing?”

“In a way. Me being like this is part of something…much bigger. And Mama and I, we have to be careful about what people find out about Kepler and the lodge. It’s our job to keep them safe. Having someone with an interest in finding monsters appear in town was an issue. So even though I was, er, _am_ attracted to you, I knew it was best to steer clear. Unfortunately, my heart didn’t get the memo.”

“Aw, babe.” Barclay draws his other hand down Sterns cheek.

“I do wish we’d been able to clear the air some other way.”

“ _You_ wish? I’m the one who thought I was gonna be torn apart.” Barclay teases.

“I’m sorry. If I had my enchantment on, I’d offer an apology kiss.” Then he grins, leans forward, and nuzzles the crook of Barclays neck. Barclay snickers, then full-on laughs when his tongue darts out.

“What’s so funny?” He does it again.

“It kinda tickles, and it, uh, it feels nice AHhey.” He laughs harder as Stern continues snuffling and licking at him, one arm looping around his waist.

“I do sincerely apologize for such poor customer service.”

“Gonna ah!, ha, leave you a bad Yelp review.” He does his best to wrap his arms around Sterns shoulders.

“Oh no, the horror.” Stern deadpans, nuzzling his cheek. Barclay absentmindedly scratches the thick, dark fur on the back of his neck. Stern is sleeker than most depictions of werewolves he’s seen, and that combined with his coloration makes him striking to behold.

_Thwupthwup_

“What’s that noise?”

“Ah, well, um.” 

“Is your tail-?”

“Please don’t say wagging. It’s just a physical expression of the fact that I feel good.” 

“That so?” Barclay scritches the same spot and the soft thumping increases, so he skates his nails over Sterns shoulders and down his chest. He presses them down firmer on the next pass.

Stern growls; a guttural, terrifying noise.

But in place of terror, something hot and dark Barclay’s his system and he freezes.

Stern pulls back, “I’m so sorry, that noise can be really unnerving, it’s mostly a reflex.”

“Unnerving. Right.”

Sterns eyes go wide, and his nose is once again against Barclays throat. He sniffs, hot breath raising goosebumps on the cooks skin, clawed hands wrapping protectively around his head and shoulders as Stern growls in a more affectionate tone. 

“Fucking-A, that’s hot.”

Sterns’ laugh is deeper than normal, but it’s still bright and happy when he stares adoringly at Barclay.

“Do you like being my prey?”

“Now that I know you’re not actually gonna eat me? Yes. But, uh, we should probably look for Indrid before we, um, see just what you do now that you’ve caught me.”

‘Shit” Stern straightens up, ears turning and nose sniffing the air, “you’re right. Poor Indrid, I feel awful, and he’s probably worried sick about you or, or worse found help from someone who we can’t trust. If I can just pick up his scent-”

A fox appears in the clearing and yips. Barclay, nerves still on full blast, yelps and climbs into Sterns lap. The fox makes several more sounds, the werewolf listening intently. 

“Hmm. Well, Indrid is safe. A friend of mine found him and will look out for him. Nice of him to send a messenger.” He yips back and the fox, which darts away into the woods.  
“Holy shit, can you talk to animals?”

“Mainly canids, since there’s some overlap in our language. Its more like if you were talking to someone who only spoke a little English and you only spoke a little of their language; you can communicate simple, basic words but not complex points.”

“Wow. Um, who is Indrid with, did it say?”

Stern stares into the trees, shakes his head, “Not my place to tell you that. He’ll introduce himself to everyone soon. Come on.” He holds out a paw and Barclay takes it, “let’s go home, preferably to the nearest bed.”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------  
“Fascinating.” Indrid murmurs as the fox hurries off on it’s errand. 

“Non-pollinators are rough to talk to. Gimme a couple of bees or a bird any day.”

“Or a moth?” Indrid replies tartly.

The creature flinches, “Or that. Look, Indrid, I’m real sorry about that.” He gestures with one hand a set of stairs twist and turn from a massive oak tree down to the ground. He takes the first step and a bioluminescent flowers light up either side of the staircase. Indrid stays firmly on the ground. 

“Why the change of heart?”

“I, uh, I…” the cloak of deep green shadows slips slightly as the creature rubs it’s arm, “I got more information. Better information.”

Indrid follows him onto the stairs. When they don’t swallow him up or grab him he relaxes, letting his host lead him to the heart of the tree. A wave of the hand and more blossoms and vines illuminate, revealing a structure of wound branches. It reminds Indrid of a log cabin; simple and sturdy, but somehow more delicate. The mossy roof in particular reminds him of a picture book. 

Once inside, his host ushers him to a wooden table with stumps for chairs. Stumps that have what are definitely man-made cushions on them. Indrid lifts one to examine it, amused by the incongruity. 

“Got friends in town who, uh, who help me make the place a little more welcomin’ to visitors. Speakin of which, are, uh, are you hungry?”

“Yes, now that I no longer fear my death is imminent.”

His host nods, opening a cabinet and rooting about. 

“Do I get to know whose home I’m in?”

“Nope.”

Indrid makes an annoyed noise, looking around the room for clues. 

“These do?” His host holds a bag of Sunchips, two packages of Fruit Gushers, and a Capri Sun. Indrid’s about to ask exactly how much spying on him he did when his stomach pangs with hunger and he takes the offered items. 

As he’s shoveling processed sugar into his mouth, the creature sits down across from him. The light in the house allows him a glimpse of more scales on a snout, but no other details.

“You, uh, you like strawberries?”

“Yes…?” Indrid has no idea where that question is leading until a flick of a claw causes a strawberry bush to bloom across the center of the table, ripe fruit glinting jewel-like in the warm room. Indrid can’t help but laugh in delight at the display. 

He sees teeth now, sharp but spread in a smile, and from the floor next to him a pineapple bush sprouts up. 

“Climate don’t matter when it’s magic doin’ the grownin’. Pineapple?” He plucks the fruit from the bush and when Indrid eagerly nods slices it into elegant triangles with his claws. 

“Wonderful!” Indrid flaps his hands, last traces of fear flitting out the window

“That’s just the easy stuff.” His host hands him a slice of pineapple, “once made a full-grown pine appear from the ground two seconds.”

“I must admit, I care less about the complexity and am mainly enjoying the unusual thing I encounter being one of beauty rather than terror.”

Guilt flickers in golden eyes, then, “you, uh, you got a favorite flower?”

Indrid wipes his lips, thinking.

“I’m partial to yellow ladies slippers. They, ah, they remind me of someone I’m fond of.”

The flowers appear around him instantly, including in a crown that two vines place on his head. He notices all the other flowers in the room burst open as well. Several bright pink blossoms peek out from the top of the hooded cloak, and his host quickly waves his hand to shut them again.

“This may be an odd question, but do you feel through the vines when you use them?”

“Depends. See, when I do something like this, I can feel through ‘em because I need to” two vines rise from the floor and open a cabinet, removing a glass and pitcher of water, “but plenty of plants kinda just...respond to their surroundin’s differently when they’re around me.”

“Like that?” Indrid points to a vine, dotted with white flowers, that seems to be straining to touch Indrid’s hand.

“Uh, yeah, um, you wanna see somethin neat?”

Indrid nods and his host shows him to a nearby window, gesturing for silence when they get closer. Gently, he coaxes the leaves on a small branch to part, revealing a tiny nest where a female hummingbird sits nestled atop her chicks. Indrid grins, keeps his sounds of excitement soft as they step back and leave the birds to sleep. 

“Shit” his host reaches for Indrid’s cheek, then stops, “looks like your face got scratched up when you were runnin’. Here, uh, lemme show you to my, uh, guest room and then I can grab you a band-aid.”

They move through a leafy hallway, one that reminds Indrid of a tunnel of willows or reeds, reaching a room with a bed, a chair and desk, and more than a few green moths fluttering in and out through the window. Indrid settles on the bed, removing his shoes as his host retrieves as band-aid and clean, wet cloth. The creature begins kneeling, then stops. 

“Is, uh, is it okay if I patch it up for you? If, if it ain’t I can-”

“It’s alright.” 

As his host leans in and gingerly dabs his cheek. As he sets the band-aid no, Indrid tries for a better look at his features, but the moment is over too fast. 

“I should let you sleep. Uh, bathroom is just down the hall to the right, my room is to the left. If, uh, if you need anythin, that’s where I’ll be.”

“Thank you. Goodnight, mysterious hero.” Indrid grins, and the pink flowers once again pop out from the hood as his host gives a fumbled, “‘night” as he leaves. 

Indrid strips down to his underwear and tank top, climbing into the bed and finding it remarkably comfortable. The frame is vines and branches, but the bed itself seems to be a normal mattress, the pillow mossy green but made of fabric rather than plant matter.

Before he can reach for the blanket, two vines pull it up and pat it down against his chest. 

“Thank you.” He sets his glasses aside and shuts his eyes, thoughts turning immediately to a certain ranger. His host has speech tics that remind him of Duck, though he supposes they may be common for anyone who’s lived in Kepler awhile. Still, Duck would probably get a great deal of joy from this place. Or maybe he’d scold the creature for growing non-native plants in a fragile ecosystem. Indrid smiles at the image, tries not to think back on the last time they saw each other, on the way it felt to tease him, to fall asleep holding him in the darkness of the lodge. He’d very much like to be held by him now. 

A vine climbs up his chest, and he expects it to adjust the blanket of fluff the pillow. Instead, it strokes his cheek. Another curls across his belly, wiggling between his clothes to pet the sensitive skin near his hips. 

“I, ah, what, oh, oh, that feels nice.” He sighs as two more vines stroke up and down his sides. More join them, petting and teasing his skin, some staying above his clothes and some sneaking beneath. 

It would be easy to just let go and see what the vines want from him, but Indrid has seen enough porn to know how this sort of thing might go. He needs to test something first.

“Stop.” 

All the vines freeze. Some even begin retracting back to the walls and the bed. 

“Alright, you, ah, you can continue.” He bites his lip as several more slip under his clothes, laughs when he notices one is tugging politely on his waistband.

“As long as you stay, ah, outside that is quite welcome.” 

The vine slithers beneath the fabric and quickly twines around his cock. Indid gasps, groans as another pair find and tease at his nipples. 

“Nnnn! Gracious, yes, ohyes, that’s lovely, ohhhhhh” he writhes as the vine on his cock twists as it moves up and down, occasionally gliding over the head of his cock to streak pre-cum along it.

He closes his eyes, pretends the touches along his body are coming from Duck, the shorter man lovingly jacking him off as he drawls sweet words in his ear. He suspects Duck is gentle in bed, especially at first, but commanding when the opportunity presents itself. And that he’d hold Indrid’s hand the first time the fucked, to keep him grounded and remind him who was in charge.

His fingers flex longingly, and a smooth, cool vine curls up his wrist before spreading five smaller tendrils between his fingers. 

He chuckles, fights to keep his voice low, “I ahhnnnn, I must commend my host. He keeps a very thoughtful house.”  
\----------------------------------------   
_Indrid is atop him, kissing his face and sighing happily as he works his cock into Duck._

_“Havin fun there, sugar?”_

_“Mmmm, yes, gracious Duck, I’m so glad you built such a, ah, sturdy form” he grabs Duck’s belly with a playful growl._

_“Feel like testin’ just how sturdy it is?” Duck wiggles his eyebrows._

_“Yes, oh yes, Duck, Duck, Duck!”_

Duck wakes up knowing two things; he’ll need to change his sheets, and something is making the plant life in Indrid’s end of the house buzz with desire. He cloaks himself in a hurry and as he strides down the hall he notices that the desire isn’t generalized, it’s back and forth; some of his desire must have seeped into the plant life of the house, but he can also feel Indrid’s desire.

Opening the door to the guest room, he’s just in time to see the human arch off the bed, hand thrown over his mouth to muffle a cry of pleasure as damp spreads across his boxers. Some of the vines pull back immediately, but a few remain, one stroking his neck and jaw while two more gently run along his stomach. 

“That, that was very nice. Thank you, ah, so polite.” This Indrid directs at the vine that emerges from his underwear, as it tugs his waistband back into place and smooths it down. 

“They have better fuckin been.” Duck growls. Indrid starts, gathering the blanket over his lap as the rest of the vines disappear. 

“I, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, no it ain’t you that’s gotta apologize.” He kneels by the bed, cupping Indrid’s cheek, “nothin like that’s ever happened before. I, uh, fuck, I uh, don’t, don’t know what-”

Indrid rests his hand on top of Duck’s, “You don’t need to be sorry. They only did what I gave permission for. I was, ah, thinking of someone and wishing he was here. Perhaps they responded to that.”

Duck wants to grab his ring and turn human right then and there.

“Oh, uh, yeah. That mighta done it. I’m still sorry if they bothered you.”

“They didn’t” this time Indrid squeezes his hand, thumb rubbing along his scales, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m now even more tired than I was when you last saw me.”

Duck nods, bows awkwardly, and shuts the door to the sound of Indrid settling in bed. When he reaches his own room he strips off the sheets and flops down on the bare mattress; he’ll just stay up and read for a bit (by which he means all night), because if he falls asleep and dreams of Indrid, mussed hair and flushed cheeks, brown eyes shining in the dark, he’s afraid he’ll wake up to find the plants of the house will have acted on his desires and found a way to keep Indrid there with him forever.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------  
Many miles away, Boyd Mosche stands in his inner sanctum, the room of the Cryptonomica in which no one, not even Dani, is allowed. It contains his most prized, and most loathed, possessions. Possessions like the necklace he’s staring at right now, wondering for the hundredth time that week what to do with it.

_You will have to tell her some day, my dear Boyd_

He snorts at the irony of his conscience choosing that voice with which to scold him. Then he flips the lights off and mutters into the dark, “No, old chum. Not a chance.”


	6. Tell Me The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mama explains. Indrid questions. Duck tells the truth.

Indrid finds the message spelled out in flowers on the table.

_Little moth: Off in woods. If you want breakfast, some in cabinet for you. Take a right out of the clearing, then go straight until you hit the fork, then go left. Should hit the labeled trail soon._

He grabs the offered breakfast, eats as he follows the directions back to a main trail, wishing he’d had a chance to thank his host. As he rounds the bend to the exit into Eastwoods, a figure is waiting for him by the trailer. 

“Morning, Indrid.” Stern smiles at him, indicates the nearby car, “Barclay is making something special this morning, so he asked me to come over and see if you’d like a ride to the Lodge.”

The dread nipping at Indrid’s neck, the fear that he and his host were wrong, skitters away. 

“I’d like that a lot. Let me change and I’ll join you.”

Soon he’s in non-dusty clothes, small sketchbook in his lap, as Stern sips his to-go mug and drives them at exactly 30 miles per hour down the frontage road to the Lodge. Indrid follows him into the restaurant, then immediately takes a step back. 

“You’re clearly closed. Which makes a special of any kind unlikely. Why did you really bring me here?”

“Indrid, that you?” Barclay appears from the back room, carrying a tray of food to the grill, “oh thank fucking god. I know you were with someone last night, but I was still hella scared you were wandering around the woods freaked out of your mind.” 

Indrid approaches the counter as Barclay talks, and the larger man sets the tray down and opens his arms. It takes a moment, but Indrid realizes he’s offering a hug. He could use a hug. Stepping into the embrace, Barclay mutters to him, “woulda never forgiven myself if one of my best friends got hurt because of me.”

“What happened? The, ah, the person who helped me seemed to know right away you were fine and not being bitten by a werewolf.”

“Ha, yeah.” Barclay rubs his neck, and Indrid notices a hickey peeking out from his collar.

A piece of the picture flutters into view; a future of the man behind him becoming a wolf. 

“I would like an apology, followed by an explanation.” Indrid turns to Stern. The manager looks startled, but the expression gives way to relief. 

“I can do the first part no problem. Indrid I’m so, so sorry for scaring you last night. I hope you know that I’d never harm you, or Barclay.” It’s obviously sincere, invisible tail firmly between his legs.

“But he’s gonna need some help explainin’.” Mama ushers Boyd, Dani, Vincent, and Aubrey into the dining room, shutting and locking the door once everyone is inside. She gestures to one of the large, round tables, “tea and coffee’d be real nice, Barclay, but let’s wait on the grub until we’ve talked. Wanna get this over with.”

Barclay sits down next to Indrid, Dani sitting on his other side as he pulls out his sketchbook. 

“I’ll cut right to it, fellas: weird shit happens in Kepler, and especially in those woods. You both come face to face with it since you been here, but after last night, there ain’t really a way for us to just pretend everythin is normal hope you don’t say nothin’ about what you seen. So I’m gonna explain why it’s real, real important you don’t. And Joseph, I’m gonna staple that damn bracelet to you so you don’t get filmed by anyone else.”

“At least Barclay let me erase the footage” Stern glares at Boyd. 

“True, which I appreciate. Anyway. Long time ago, there was a gate that connected our world to a place called Sylvain. Under the right conditions, Sylphs could come over here or humans could go over there, and each world appointed a few guardians to live on the other side. Then, all hell broke loose; abominations, real nasty, violent creatures, started comin’ through from Sylvain. The humans thought it was the start of a war, and sent a battalion over to attack the Sylphs. Somehow, the Sylphs, or maybe a guardian who had some sense, blew the gate to bits before the war could continue. That was about a hundred years ago.”

“You’ve been here a hundred years?” Barclay turns to Stern.

“No. I’ve, um, I’ve been here about forty years, I came over when I was twenty.”

“Ooooh, someone’s a cradle robber.” Aubrey teases. Stern raises an eyebrow and points at Dani. 

“But if the gate was gone, how did you even get here?” Indrid looks around the table, no longer certain which of them is human.

“After awhile, strange gaps in the fabric of space and time started showing up, replicating the experience of the gate. Our best guess is that somehow, the building blocks of the gate remained and formed connections organically. There is also speculation the loss of the Quell somehow weakened whatever spell was used to destroy the gate.” Vincent taps his fingers on the table.

“The Quell was one of the two, um, goddesses at the heart of Sylvain.” Aubrey toys with an orange and gold bracelet, “to make things super-simple, Sylvain is the goddess of life and The Quell is the goddess of death. Or she was. Most people think she’s gone.”

“No one’s certain when it started, but slowly we noticed that the natural cycle of life and death was thrown off. Sylphs and other creatures weren’t dying. For a time, a lot of people saw this as a plus; no dying, not losing loved ones.” Stern sighs, “but there’s a reason balance is important in the universe. And worse, Sylvain and the Quell were in love. When The Quell disappeared, Sylvain slowly weakened from grief. Now, she struggles to keep herself and her people alive. Those who took what was deemed more than their fair share of her energy were exiled to earth once the new gates formed.”

“That’s part of why I started Amnesty. To give those folks somewhere safe to live. The springs out back help keep ‘em healthy, and I help keep ‘em safe.” Mama nods. Stern removes his bracelet, and Aubrey takes off a necklace. The young woman’s hair changes from black to flowing red-orange, her eyes glowing a rich, deep orange.

“'Lady Flame' begins to make more sense.” Indrid murmurs. Sterns’ appearance is more familiar, but it’s still rather alarming. That is, until Barclay begins scritching the back of his neck and his tail starts wiggling.

“If it were just exiles comin’ through, things’d be okay. But the abominations are back too. Not only do they pose a risk to folks just mindin’ their own damn business, but if someone figures out where they’re comin from, we could have another fuckin’ war on our hands. That’s where we come in. Everyone at this table except you two is a member of the Pine Guard; a team of humans and Sylphs tryin’ to keep this whole thing from turnin into a real fuckin mess.”

“So...you’re telling us all this so we won;t talk?” Barclay takes Stern’s paw 

“In part. We’re also-”

“Asking if we want to help.” Indrid says along with her, everyone at the table turning to look at him. 

“Right you are, Indrid. For instance, those seer powers of yours would be mighty helpful.”

“You knew of them before I made that misstep just now. How?” Indrid glances at Barclay, the only person he told about his powers.

“Me.” Stern’s ears flick, “I have excellent hearing even when I’m human, and I overheard you talking to Barclay about how they’d been, um, malfunctioning since you got here.”

“Did you also hear the part where they have been an welcome element in my life since they appeared, and that while there are times--such as last night--when seeing what was coming more accurately and with more warning would have been helpful, I’m enjoying not having my mind constantly deluged with futures setting and resetting?”

“Um-”

“I do not _like_ my powers. I’m stuck with them, and have learned the hard way that trying to use them to help people more often backfires than not.” He stands, notices Mama moving to stand as well, “it’s alright, Mama, I will keep silent on what you’ve told me today. But I...I’ve given up on trying to stop things with my powers, even when they’re at full strength. And I am not much of a hero otherwise. I’m, I’m sorry.” He hates this, the rest of them looking puzzled and sad at his answer, hates knowing he’s letting them down.

“Indrid” Aubrey stands, slipping her necklace on, “it’s okay. I mean, like, it’d be really helpful to have you around, but this isn’t the kind of thing we’re gonna force or guilt you into.” She rests her hands on his arms, “you’re still our friend, even if you just know about the PG but don’t join. So no more sad eyes, okay?”

“Aubrey, you can barely see my eyes.” 

“The Lady Flame sees all.” She wiggles her fingers at him with an “ooOOOoooh” cracking him up. 

“I do, ah, I do want to thank you for trusting me enough to tell me all this. It does, ah, put some of the things that have been happening to me since I arrived into a new light.”

“Like your friend from last night?” Dani holds out her hand to Aubrey as the other woman sits back down. 

“Yes. I assume he’s a, ah, a Sylph?”

“Yep. Don’t, uh, don’t suppose he told you his name?” Mama leans back in her chair.

“No. He outright refused.”

“Huh. Well, got a feelin’ you’ll find it out eventually. Mornin’, Indrid, sure we’ll be seein’ you around.”

“Wait, don’t you wanna stay for breakfast?” Barclay looks worried.

“No, thank you. I, ah, I am still a little worried about Duck, given that he works in the woods where all these things are lurking. Finding him might return my appetite.”

He leaves, and thus misses Mama turning to Stern and muttering, “forest guardian or no, if he don’t tell that poor boy soon, I’m gonna hang him from the top floor by his ankles until he does.”  
\---------------------------------------------  
Indrid concentrates on the futures, not on the movements of his hands. He can still feel the static, the delay, but if all of his focus is inwards, it becomes easier to trace various paths of outcomes. 

He just wants to find Duck. He’s worried about him, yes, but more than that he’s feeling wrong-footed by the earlier revelations and wants to be near someone comforting. Someone who makes him feel as if things will be alright no matter what the futures show. 

After several tries, images come through of Duck walking in the woods. Indrid follows them long enough to see landmarks, then dashes out the door and into the trees. Twenty minutes later, he decides the futures must have been wrong, or he must have come too early, because there is no sign of the ranger anywhere. 

As he’s scuffing his feet in the dirt, annoyed, he notices his search led him to the same path from his morning. The one leading to the treehouse. Maybe his mysterious host, with all his woodsy abilities, can help Indrid find Duck. 

Doing his best not to step on any plants, he picks and ducks his way into the heart of the forest. When he hits the clearing, it takes a moment for the treehouse to shimmer into view, it’s camouflage lessening so Indrid can find it. No vines attack him, and when he reaches the base of the tree the stairs automatically descend. 

“Thank you.” He climbs up into the shade, the vine-curtain door parting as he approaches. The kitchen and living room are empty, as is the room he stayed in last night. The library is the same, as is the greenhouse (who would have guessed a creature that could grow plants on cue would keep a room of lovingly cultivated ferns). That leaves the creature’s bedroom.  
He knocks first, calls out “hello” for good measure. When there’s no answer, he pushes the door open, walking in to find a half made bed with books and plants strewn about. On the wall opposite the bed is a framed drawing that Indrid recognizes instantly. It’s the one he gave Duck.

No wonder the creature wouldn’t tell him it’s name. 

His mind spins so fast between furious and numb that he has to sit down on a stump a few yards from the clearing. Massaging his temples, glasses in hand, he fills in the rest of the picture with Ducks words and actions over the weeks, unsure whether he likes it.

“‘Drid? What are you doin’ way out here?” Duck, fully human, sits down next to him. It takes all of Indrid’s control not to shove him to the ground. 

“I was looking for you.”

“Well, you uh, you found me.” Duck touches his back and he stiffens, turning to meet the ranger’s eyes. 

“Duck, are you actually a seven foot tall forest Sylph?”

He sees Duck’s eyes widen, sees him consider a lie and then understand how trapped he is. 

“Yeah. Yeah I am. Fuck I, I put this off too long but here goes nothin’.” 

The ranger rises, slipping a gold ring from his hand, and sending reality into contortions for a nanosecond. All the glimpses Indrid got last night form into a cohesive image. Deep green, leaf shaped scales cover his body from top to toe, fitting perfectly with the rich copper of his claws and the almost crocodilian shape of his face. Less congruous are the horns sprouting from his head, which remind Indrid of the elk he’s seen in guidebooks, and the fact he seems to be sprouting green, mossy fur on his belly and near his shoulders. A short, mottled green kilt wraps around his waist, and the cloak of leaves drapes down his back. The golden eyes are no longer full of glowing menace; they just look very, very, _very_ guilty.

“I, uh, how, uh, what do you think?” Duck scratches his arm nervously, moss and vines appearing between his scales as if he’s trying to hide. 

“I am too angry to be intrigued--Or anything else--right now.”

“You got every right to be--wait, you called me the right thing. Did Mama talk to you or somethin?” The voice is only a little deeper than normal, not the strange tone Indrid’s heard in the past, and that only makes him madder. 

“Yes, she and the others explained all about the Pine Guard. They did not, however, explain about you, as I imagine trying to tell me that my, my, whatever we were on the verge of becoming, was in fact the monster who terrified me when I first arrived here.” He stands, rims of his glasses biting into his palm as he gesticulates, “never mind about being gracious last night, when I spent so many of them with you toying with me from the shadows.”

Duck hangs his head, “when you turned up, the forest started goin’ wild.”

“It’s. a. Forest.” Indrid bites out.

“That’s not, fuck, look, the energy of it, everythin’ was on edge, and the only thing that’d changed was you. So I decided to, uh, to spy on you. Try to work out why you were here, if you were a threat-”

“I am _not a threat_! I never have been, not to anyone, no matter what everyone seems to think!” Duck can’t know why the word jabs right through his chest, but Indrid is ready to blame him for using it all the same.

“I know you ain’t. Now. But bein’ a guardian, I couldn’t risk it. Was only once I made my human form and we started spendin more time together that I realized you weren’t anymore of a threat to these woods than I was.”

Indird’s heart no longer hurts; it’s hard for something that’s just shattered into a million pieces to feel much at all. 

“Was...was that why you kept visiting me? To, to spy on me?” He looks as Duck looks up, quickly putting his glasses on.

“‘Drid-”

“Was it all just part of the ruse, to be kind to me, pretend to be my friend to, to almost” he wraps his arms around himself, “to almost be more than that? Do you care about me at all?”

“Yes!” Duck moves forward, stops the instant Indrid backs up, “fuck, ‘Drid, you know I can’t lie, so please, please believe me when I tell you that. I’m so fuckin’ happy when you’re around, I think you’re amazin, and if I could go back i time and smack my past self so he wouldn’t scare you I’d do that this fuckin’ instant. Please, ‘Drid, please know you’re so much more to me than I ever thought you could be.” 

A clawed hand reaches into the air between them, palm up. 

Indrid shakes his head, “I know those words are true but, well, given how you were able to conceal this from me for so long, you’ll forgive me if I don’t immediately believe they tell me everything. I, I’m sorry, Duck. I need to be alone for awhile. I need to think some things over.”

Duck shrinks in on himself but says only, “okay” as he steps aside and let’s Indrid continue on his way. 

Indrid erases and remakes his picture of the last few months over and over as he treks home, feels nothing more than confused and angry no matter what the picture looks like.  
A reprieve arrives on his step in the form of a white take-out back with a note stapled to it waiting for him on Winnie’s steps. 

_Strawberry Cream Cheese sweet roll for you. Hopefully a racoon doesn’t take it before you get back.  
-Barclay._

The pastry is delicious, and restores his spirits some. He takes to the couch for the rest of the day, working on a commission before turning to his library books for a more concerted escape. He’s almost done with _Dark Clouds in His Eyes_ when there’s a knock on the door. So help him, if Duck interrupted him against his wishes AND in the middle of an important plot point, Indrid will not be pleased. 

Opening the door brings yet more confusion into his day. 

“Mr. Tarkesian? Ah, can I help you with something?”

“Leo’s just fine, kid.” The older man smiles at him, leaning on the pommel of a sheathed sword, “and it’s time you and me had a talk.”


	7. Chosen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo brings a gift. Indrid has had enough. Duck tries to be smooth.

Leo sets the sword on the table between them, “Sorry for waiting so long. From the way you talk when you’re in the store, seems like you came to Kepler to get away from certain things, not get hounded by ‘em. Thought respecting that was the right call, but seems fate had other plans.”

“You have visions as well.” Indrid sees the sentence coming. 

“Sorta. See, you and me, we’re two of a small handful of folks chosen by a more powerful being to carry on his abilities. We each were supposed to get a little bit of it; I mostly got strength and endurance with some visions thrown in now and then. Someone else got flight, another got some straight-up magic. It was never supposed to be deblitatin’.”

“How can you be sure?"

Leo shrugs, “told me himself. I was the second to last chosen and he would visit me sometimes, see how I was gettin on. See, in his mind, even with all his powers, he could never protect the world the way he wanted to. Figured if he opened others up to those powers, there’d be more of us fightin the good fight. He asked me if I’d be willin to move to Kepler, said he saw this was where the next chosen would end up one day, but that he wasn’t certain when. So I moved about twelve years ago, set up shop here, and waited. I got a gut feelin the first time you walked into the store that you might be the one he expected. But about a month ago I got a vision of us here, havin’ this talk, and then I knew for sure.”

“If you’re so sure my powers come from that same source, how come I never saw this person?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. But I got a hunch something happened to him, something he knew he couldn’t get out of, and so instead of you gettin’ a little bit of his future vision, you got the whole shebang before he died or disappeared. And he, uh, he wasn’t exactly a person.”

“Beg pardon?”

Leo points, “you’re actually pretty familiar with him.”

Indrid turns to see the mothman mug, sitting next to the mothman plush he’d been carrying around to comfort himself earlier. 

“That’s...that’s not possible.”

“Probably feels that way. But what’s Mothman known for?”

“...Prophecies.” Indrid whispers, looks at Leo with rising, panicked anger, “why me? Why on _earth_ would he pick me for this? If he was so good at seeing the future, how did he not see the part where these powers ruined my life?”

“I don’t know. He was kinda a weird one. Nice, but weird. I doubt he meant to leave you to flail around with powers you didn’t know how to use.”

“What am I even supposed to do with them?”

“Be a hero.”

“As I told Mama earlier, I am not hero material.”

Leo chuckles, “kinda thought you might say that. I can’t make you be one, Indrid. I wanna give you this all the same. Just in case.” He slides the sword to Indrid’s side of the scratched-up Formica table, “if fate tries to force your hand, won’t hurt to be armed.”

Indrid slides the sword from the scabbard marveling at the shine, feeling for an instant that being a chosen has some benefits.

“Why does it have that mouth design there?”

“Greeeeeetings nneeeeew ownnner.”

“No.” Indrid slams the sword back into it’s cover. 

“Yeah, that’s Beacon for you. Still a damn good weapon.”

“No.” Indrid sets Beacon down  
.  
Leo leans across the table, rests a hand on his shoulder, “I need to get back to the store, but if you got more questions, or you need, or hero trainin’, you come find me.”

“Right. Help. Goodbye, Leo.” Indrid walks the older man to the door, waves goodbye, then carries Beacon into the bedroom and stashes him as far under the bed as he will go. Then he flops onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. In the distance he can hear other campsites, not in Eastwoods but on either side, laughing and talking around their tables, smoke from their fires wafting through the early evening air. 

It’s too much. It’s all too much. What is he supposed to do, how is he even supposed to start figuring that out? Is anyone actually able to help him? They offer, yes, but how can you help someone who’s whole world has rearranged in under twenty-four hours

If he’s not careful, he’s going to meltdown right here and now, curl up in his bed and weep with frustration at fate’s insistence on singling him out.

He’s not sure how long he fights with his urge to fall apart, how many times he forces his breathing to even out only to hiccup again. Worse, he lost one of his most reliable grounding items two towns ago. 

The knock on the door is quiet, the soft crunch of boots in dirt suggesting it’s deliverer doesn’t want to be let in, just for the door to open. Indrid opens it, spots the flowers, and calls out, “wait.”

Duck stops near the treeline. 

“Duck, I, I need, I need-”

The ranger turns, face flooding with worry as soon as their eyes meet “oh, ‘Drid, fuck, what’s wrong?”

“Everything, or possibly nothing. I, I found out why my life has had such, ah, different challenges than others, and there’s a sword and a bunch of prophecies and I hadn’t even fully processed you being not a human and, and-”

Duck’s to him now, “do you wanna talk about it?”

It comes out in a muddled flood, linear narrative and grammar failing him as Duck listens and sits beside him on the bed. He doesn’t even get to the whole Mothman thing before his mind sends him on a tangent, the kind that emerges when a long-buried hurt claws it’s way to the mind’s front. 

“When I, I got my first visions, it was my sixteenth birthday, and, and I saw that my parents were going to be in a friends house when the water heater caused a massive explosion and a domino effect that would cause a collapse. I tried to warn them, to warn anyone who would listen, and, well, I was already considered odd and “troubled” by several people in the community and they thought it was a threat, not a warning. I was too late to stop the disaster. And I was the first one on the scene. I spent the night in jail until someone actually figured out what happened.”

“Oh sugar, I’m so fuckin sorry.”

“I’ve never asked for this, I’ve tried so hard to figure out how to make it work, how to help, and everything is different and confusing and dangerous and I, I can’t, I _can’t_.” He digs his fingers into his hair, as if pulling it hard enough will yank the unwanted futures from his skull. 

“And I don’t even have my grounding stones.” He mutters, feeling childish but too tired to care. 

“Your what?”

“My, I bought a bag of those, those tumbled, bright colored stones, they helped me calm down because they were so smooth.”

“My, uh, my scales are real smooth. If, uh, if you want to, uh, fuck, nevermind. Doubt you wanna pet a monster who went out of his way to scare you.”

“Please?” 

Duck is surprised, but he stands, pulling down the back shade and shutting the bedroom door.

“Just in case your bed can’t handle it.” He sits on the floor, back to the wall, and removes his ring. His Sylph form fills the small room, and he pats his lap stiffly. Indrid slumps off the bed and crawls into his arms. He places a hand on the scales of his chest and Duck is right; it’s the exact texture he needs, smooth and cool. In the fluorescent light, the green loses some of its depth but none of it’s shine. He focuses on the sensation, and as the nerves drain off his body he rests his cheek against it as well. Duck smells like the woods, earthy and green, and that soothes him too, brings back memories of their afternoons together. He smiles for the first time since their argument. 

“You don’t have to keep your hands to yourself.”

Ducks hands move from where they’ve been steadfastly stuck to the floor to wrap carefully around Indrid’s waist. After a moment, warm breath puffs across his head as Duck nuzzles his hair.

“Think I might know how you feel. About the whole chosen stuff. See, I didn’t wanna be a guardian. I just wanted to be a normal forest steward in Sylvain, but then when the powers that be spotted just how developed my abilities were, they insisted I was the right choice.” He runs a large hand down Indrid’s back, “I fought ‘em for awhile, gave in eventually. I...I think that was the right choice, for a lot of reasons. But I gotta say, the years when nothin was comin through from Sylvain were my favorite. I could just look out for my woods without worryin something would need fightin’. Guess that’s all sayin’, well, I’m sorry, ‘Drid. I know you wanted a chance at a normal life, and I know what it's like to be denied that."

Indrid glances up at him, marveling at how familiar expressions are still present on his Sylph face, “You know, normalcy is overrated in some ways.” Curious, he runs his fingers through the mossy fur near Duck’s shoulders, causing a deep rumble, almost like the clicking of an alligator, to leave him. Several purple blossoms appear between the scales on his arms.

“That your way of sayin you’re okay with me bein’, uh, like this?”

“Yes, my sweet.” Indrid cuddles closer.

“Thank fuck. God, Indrid, I was so scared you’d get one look at me like this and bug out. And when you found out who I really was, I was figurin that was it. That I’d fucked everything up between us.”

“And yet you left flowers.” Indrid traces abstract swirls across his chest. 

“They, uh, they’re all flowers that mean ‘I’m sorry’ in different cultures. That’s why I was tryin’ to hide before you picked ‘em up; just wanted you to know I was real sorry, not make you think you had to take me back because of it. I shouldn't have spied on you. Don’t matter that doin’ so meant I got to know the best man in Kepler; you deserved to be left alone like you wanted.”

“I accept your apology, Duck Newton, provided that tomorrow you take me on the most normal date known to man. Or to Sylph.”

A rumbling, clicking laugh, “Think I can manage that. Dinner and a movie?”

“Perfect.”

“Fuck” Duck rest his hand atop Indrid’s on his chest, hugs him close with his free arm, “I’m so fuckin’ happy, even if I owe Joe ten bucks. He kept tellin me plenty of folks like monsters, and I kept pointin out that werewolves are well-known. People have had time to get attracted to ‘em. Ain’t a lot of people who look like me, not even on Sylvain.”

Indrid cups Ducks cheeks, “I adore you, Duck Newton, in any form you take. Though I must admit this one offers a great deal to explore. May I?” He reaches up towards the antlers, and Duck obligingly tips his head forward, nuzzling his shoulder as he runs his fingers along them. They’re slightly textured, reminding Indrid of Manzanitas he saw back in California.

“Remarkable. I don't suppose your coloring changes with the seasons?” He means it as a joke, but Duck nods.

“I’ll get more gold and orange come fall, more grey in winter.” 

“I’d like to see that.” He releases the antlers, hums when Duck rests their foreheads together, “I have so many questions. I’m also certain that if I make my brain take in any more new information, it will rebel and run out my nose.”

“Can’t have that.” Duck kisses his brow, “how about you get into bed, sugar? I can jo-”

“Yes.”

“You got it. Lemme change back, tend to grow moss when I sleep like this.”

Indrid snuggles down in bed, kicking stray drawings and socks aside as Duck lays down next to him. The Sylph rolls onto his side, pressing his back to Indrid’s chest. Indrid wraps his arms around him, soaking in his warmth and planting sleepy kisses to the base of his neck. Duck giggles, then after a moment the same purr tumbles from his chest. Indrid lets the sound seep into him, Duck growing heavy in his arms and murmuring groggy promises for tomorrow, until the day releases it’s hold and he drops into deep, sound sleep.  
\-----------------------------------------------------  
The date is going well. Duck’s sure. Pretty sure. 

Look, he’s never dated a human before, okay? He’s going off what human media he’s consumed and the advice he spent this afternoon getting from Aubrey and Joe. He and Indrid are at the dinky movie theater, currently showing Creature from the Black Lagoon as part of it’s “Summerween” celebration. Indrid had given him a knowing look when he spotted the marquee.

“Dropping hints about human/monster romance?”

“It, uh, it was just what was playin.”

Duck bought tickets, Indrid bought snacks, and now they’re side by side in the top row in the popcorn scented dark as black and white horror plays across the screen. It’s clearly a date. Indrid said it was a date. 

But what if he’s misunderstanding? Aubrey said there are things called friend dates. Fuck, he hasn’t been this nervous since…

Nevermind, he can’t head down that road right now.

He yawns, looping his arm over Indrid’s shoulder as he does. The human snickers, but is instantly cuddling up to him.

“Rather classic of you.” Indrid purrs.

“Look, I ain’t ever taken a human out like this before. Gotta rely on movies and shit to figure out what to do.”

Indrids grin widens, and he bends down to peck Duck on the lips, stays close as he whispers, “then you don’t know why I picked the empty back row, do you?”

“NoOH, fuck, ‘Drid.” He stifles a giggle as Indrid kisses down his neck, the taller man setting his box of skittles aside to run his fingers along Duck’s thigh.

“Allow me to enlighten you.” Cool lips glide back up his throat to his cheek, tease at the corner of his mouth, and Duck turns his head fast enough to get dizzy. 

When their lips connect, the world dissolves away. Nothing exists for him to feel but Indrid’s mouth, quiet confidence giving way to eager exploration once Duck kisses back. He gets a taste of processed sugar when he parts his lips to allow Indrid’s tongue between them, cups the other man’s cheeks with a gasp. Indrid hums at the contact, strokes his hair and pets a tantalizing line from his thigh to his belly and back down again. He does this three more times, his kisses lingering longer and Duck’s hold on him tightening with each pass. 

On the next pass his hand changes course, dragging down along his fly.He clickgrowls without meaning too, looks about furtively to see if anyone in the sparse crowd noticed. No one pays them any mind. 

“Is this alright?” Indrid’s words flutter in his ear like new leaves.

“Depends on how ready you are for me to pin you down and ride you.” 

“Extremely, but not here.” Indrid nibbles at his neck with sighs that are remarkably obscene for how quiet they are, “shall we, ah, settle for making out?” 

“Hard pressed to call it settlin’, seein’ as it’s gettin me hotter than the time Aubrey set me on fire.”

“She _what_?"

“Nother time. C’mere, sugar.” He tugs Indrid forward by his sweater, the human falling against him. The remainder of the movie passes in a haze of teenaged energy, the pair two drunk on the sensation of each other’s skin, lips occasionally missing each other to find cheeks and throat and shoulders, hands struggling to be everywhere at once. 

When the ending shots roll across the screen, Indrid pulls back panting, hair comically mussed. Duck quickly waves away the dandelions that sprouted from his chair back, and makes a mental note to thank Joe for the use of his car (and to thank Indrid for driving so he doesn’t have a repeat of the great truck debacle of 1998).

Because he’s got a moth to pin down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lag on this, and for the fact chapters might be slower to update in the coming days. Got some life stuff that's making it tricky to focus.


	8. Indrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck remembers. Indrid makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: There is death of a semi-canon character mentioned in this chapter. You'll see what I mean by "semi-canon" towards the end.

“You’re certain you want AHgoodnes, to, to do this here?” Indrid sighs as Duck traps him against the bedroom door, “In my barely-mobile mobile home and not, not somewhere more fitting such a remarkable being?”

“I wanna be with _you_ , sugar. Here or anywhere else you’ll have me.”

“If that’s your nnnnnahgod” Duck bites his throat, switches sides to create a matching set of hickeys as he grinds against him, “your preference, you can have me right here or, or over the table, or-”

“Like your thinkin, but need you somewhere you can lay all the way down and get comfy.” Duck reaches around him and opens the door, the human stumbling backwards, clinging to him with kisses, until they make an abrupt landing on the bed. 

“On you back, darlin.” Duck stands, unbuttoning his shirt, grinning when Indrid instantly shows his belly. 

“Obedient little thing, ain't you?” 

“I, I just want, I’ve wanted for so _long_.” Indrid whines.

“I know, sugar, me too. Get naked, and don’t take too long. Just cause I don’t got claws right now don’t mean I can’t rip that shirt off.”

A louder whine as Indrid pulls his sweater and shirt off and hurls them away. His pants give him trouble, and Duck chuckles as he unzips his own while the taller man huffs out frustrated sounds. 

Duck’s never seen the point of underwear, and so when he pulls his pants down there’s a beat where Indrid goes perfectly still, gaping at the sight of his cock, before frantically tugging on his pants. 

“Works better if you unzip ‘em.” Duck drawls, climbing onto the bed and finishing the job himself. 

“This is why pajamas are superior.” Indrid mumbles, then squeaks out a gasp when Duck dips his head down to kiss along his stomach and thighs. Duck repeats the pattern, runs his tongue along Indrid’s inner thigh just to feel him tense. There’s a gentle _click_ as red glasses find their home atop a nearby box. 

He sits up, whole body flooding with affection when he sees Indrid’s face. He wants to explore every inch of him, but right now all he can focus on is trusting set of his jaw, the dark circles under his brown eyes that Duck wishes he could kiss away.

“You’re staring.” Indrid smiles, making the whole picture all the more breathtaking.

“Ain’t ever seen you like without your glasses in the light, only a few times in the dark.”

Mirth flickers through the rich brown, “exactly how long were you there while your thoughtful houseplants, ah, tended to me?”

“Only the finish.” In spite of straddling him, cock pressing against his thigh, Duck blushes at the memory. 

“A likely story.” 

“Why?” Duck leans down, kissing a languid line along Indrid’s face and neck, “were you hopin I’d seen the whole show?”

“Are you telling me it didn’t offer up images of how to use those powers of yours?”

Duck growls, possessive, “Trust me, it did. But that ain’t what I’m in the mood for tonight. Don’t you sense you are either.” 

Indrid shakes his head, then strains up to kiss him before smiling sweetly, “I recall a deeply nonthreatening threat about riding me was made earlier.”

“Damn right it was.” Duck kisses him slow and determined as he slides a hand between them and wraps it around Indrid’s cock. 

“AHoh, oh yes, gracious, do, do you, ah, want me to prepare myself or do you want to do it?”

“Think you misunderstood, sugar; by ridin’ I meant I wanna use _this_ ” he twists on an upstroke and Indrid jolts, “to fuck myself.”

“Yes” Indrid arches, pumping his cock into Duck’s fist and throwing his arms around him, “the, the supplies are undERohhh, mmmm please do that again.”

“You want me to get the condoms or you want me to keep goin’? Gotta make up your mind.” Duck brushes their noses together as he teases him, Indrid whacking his hands over his face with an adorable sound.

“Please do not make me make any decisions, all my brain has rerouted to thinking about you.”

Duck takes pity on him, breaks away long enough to retrieve the pack of condoms and the half-used bottle of drugstore lube from under the bed.

“You wanna know another perk of bein’ a Slyph?” He rolls the condom down Indrid’s cock, narrow but perfect as far as he’s concerned, kisses the head before straddling him once more.

“Yes. OhGOD” Indrid yelps as Duck drags a palmful of lube down his shaft without warning.

“Makes me real fuckin durable.” He presses his ass down, groaning happily as the head of Indrid’s cock pushes inside. Laughs, pleased, as Indrid’s fingers and toes flex and curl uncontrollably as he wriggles down another inch. 

“Duck, sweetheart, yes, ohgoodnessyes, you feel incredible, please, please.” He whimpers, pushing his hips up and flexing his hands yet again. Duck sinks the rest of the way down, enjoying the novelty of being filled in such a smaller form than he’s accustomed to, and leans forward to capture panting kisses from the man beneath him. He brings one hand to rest in Indrid’s own. The human instantly interlinks their fingers, fills the air with begging sounds until Duck kisses him once more. 

Rolling and shifting is far easier than bouncing, and doesn’t require him to pull away and lose contact with Indrid’s writing, pleading form, and so he moves his hips back and forth, side to side, Indrid moaning with every motion. 

“Enjoyin youeself there, sugar?”

“Y-yes, oh yes, Nnnnh, Duck, oh my sweet whoever built this form for you deserves an, AH, award. So, so pleasing, so perfect, oh my dear.” His free hand traces Duck’s chest and sides, painting trails of affection across his skin, “so much to hold, so much to love, soOOH, oh you like that.”

“Been a long fuckin time since anyone talked to me that way.” Duck works his hips harder at the praise, pulls their joined hands down between their bellies, “if you like all those bits, show me how much you like this oneFUCK, ohdamn, fingers are good for more’n just main’ pretty pictures, fuck _me_ that’s good.”

Indrid beams before crying out as Duck jerks forward, “Close, I, I’m sorry, it’s been-”

“Don’t you fuckin apologize little moth, whole point was to ride you so hard you came apart.”

The other man moans faintly at the nickname, burying his face into Duck’s neck as his other hand continues groping at his belly and ass.

Duck shuts his eyes, fireworks already starting behind them. How could he ever think there was no place in his world for Indrid? Or any place for himself but here, slender fingers coveting every inch of him as Indrid calls his name over and over? 

How could he have wasted so much of their time together?

The last thought spurs him on to make up for it, to cram all the missed nights of tenderness and closeness and pleasure into now. 

He’s not sure who cums first; all he notices is that as his orgasm spills out of him and across Indrid’s belly the other man is moaning and holding tight to him as his hips jolt up in final, desperate bursts. 

He collapses, breathes in sweat and night air from the crack in the window, lets himself hold and be held until Indrid shifts beneath him. 

“I, ah, I ought to pull out.”

“Fine” he grumbles with faux annoyance, “but don’t be a stranger.”

Indrid laughs, breathy and tired, then hisses as Duck pulls off. As Indrid disposes of the trash, Duck retrieves water from the kitchen, setting it down within reach as he crawls into bed. He’s not all that tired, but he can tell Indrid is in spite of his attempts to act as if he’s full of energy. So as much as he would like to see if he can hold Indrid up and fuck him against the door, he doubly wants to be here for him as he falls asleep. To be here if he needs to talk, or if something has the audacity to frighten him in the night. To protect him.

Indrid grabs his luna moth patterned pajama pants from the floor, pulling them on with a yawn before joining him. 

“Hey, sugar.” Duck opens his arms and Indrid nestles against him. 

“Hello yourself. Gracious, I can’t remember the last time I came so fast. Though I suppose I’ve been wanting this for so long, my body was rather eager to finish.”

“Makes two of us. Fuck, ‘Drid, you were perfect.”

“I didn’t do that much.”

“None of that, darlin, you’re a wet dream come true and I won’t hear a word otherwise.” Duck kisses his nose.

“A compelling point.” Indrid sighs, rests his chin atop Duck’s head, seems to lose himself in happy thoughts, petting Duck’s chest and humming softly. Duck can’t think of anything that needs saying, and so relaxes in his hold, content in the perfect peace of the moment. 

After a time, Indird starts slightly.

“I just remembered, I never told you one of the most unbelievable parts of Leo’s story. My fascination with Mothman is perhaps justified; he was who gave me powers to me.”

Duck’s heart tugs in warning, but his mouth doesn’t heed it, “Mothman? As in the Point Pleasant one?”

“Yes, as far as I understand it.”

“‘Drid” He sits up slightly, “that means they, they came from another Indrid. From _my_ Indrid.”

It’s the wrong set of words. They form into a key, and then the floodgates open.  
\-----------------------------------------------  
 _The Seer bows stiffly to the gathered guardians, black wings gathered tightly to his back. Duck’s never seen a moth Sylph before, but if they’re all as odd as this one, he can see why their numbers are dwindling._

_He’s assigned to help The Seer to his house here in the woods, and as they walk the moth turns to him._

_“It is not true. The reason they sent me. Or maybe it is only half true.”_

_“Wha-”_

_“You were going to ask if things were really as serious as they seem, Duck Newton. And while I see some dangers on the horizon for Earth and Sylvain, I was mainly sent here because others want to hear my predictions, not my opinions, and I am not good at keeping either to myself.”_

_Duck isn’t sure what to do with such candor, so he simply nods._

“Duck, sweetheart, please, what’s wrong, what’s wrong?”

_“You should be proud, Duck. The forest is thriving. And so...so lovely. I can see why you are so fond of it.”_

_“Just doin’ my duty, Lord Seer.”_

_“I have told you, I prefer Indrid. You need not call me such a silly, formal title. And while I know coming here was a, shall we say, assignment for you, it seems to me you have found a passion for it. I have seen you; you care for the woods as diligently as if you made them yourselves. It is admirable.”_

_“I, uh, some days I love this place more than the woods back home.”_

_“Understandable.” The moth holds out a finger and a white butterfly alights on it._

_“You don’t think it’s wrong?”_

_“Not in the least. Who says one must only love one’s home and not the richness of places the universe has to offer? No, Duck Newton, in some ways I think you understand the mission of the guardians better than most.” Indrid smiles at him and, for the first time, he sends a genuine one in return._

“Indrid, Indrid, goddesses help me, fuck, no.” His whole body is shaking, tears spilling out in an endless stream as Indrid, this Indrid, tries to calm him. 

_“Bravo!” Indrid claps all four hands as a rainbow of flowers blooms across the forest floor. Duck bows, laughing as the other Sylph plucks one and nibbles on it._

_“They’re all ones you like.”_

_“Really?” Indrid cocks his head, looks more carefully, then trills “so they are!”_

_“I, uh, I wanted to, uh, to, to tell you something. I, uh, fuck, Indrid, if you see what’s comin please out me outta my misery and tell me if you feel the same?”_

_Spindly fingers brush his cheeks as Indrid rests their foreheads together, “If it was the future where you said you feared you were falling in love with me then yes, I saw it. And do not be afraid, my sweet; I love you as well.”_

“I loved him, I loved him so much and, and now he’s, he’s gone. He, he must’ve” Duck hiccups out a sob, “must’ve given you those powers right before he, he, he” he curls in on himself with another sob. He can’t say it. He’s never been able to. 

_“The gate must be destroyed today. It’s our only chance.” Indrid flexes his wings as Duck readies the explosives, “I have already alerted the other guardians; if they wish to live out their lives on Sylvain, they must return now.”_

_“What about you?”_

_“I...I had not decided yet. The spell can be worked from either side.” Indrid regards him carefully, “where are you going?”_

_“Like to stay here. But only if you do too. If you wanna go back home rather than get marooned here, then I’ll go too.”_

_Indrid inhales, feathers rising in anxiety before relaxing, “I wish to stay here.”_

_“Then I’m stayin’ too.”_

“I kn-knew he was sharin’ his powers. After, after the Silver Bridge, he couldn’t stand bein’ unable to help how he should. Thought” he sniffs, only for more tears and snot to bubble up, “thought if he could train a few others, he could really keep people safe. It was the most noble goddamn impulse, and, and it took him away for months at a time but he always came back to me, always, always, until-” 

_“Thacker? What’re you doin’ here?” Duck turns as the older Sylph enters the clearing he’s tending. Thacker is the last priest in service of the Quell. All the others gave up hope years ago. But even with The Quell gone, her priests can still sense one, important thing._

_“I...fuck, I ain’t sure how to tell you this, Duck. It’s, aw hell buddy, it’s Indrid. He’s gone.”_

_Duck doesn’t remember much after those words enter the air. He knows he fell to the ground, that he was silent for ages until something inside him broke and screamed, grief-stricken and enraged, into the unhearing dusk._

_He knows every plant in a two mile radius of the clearing died the instant he understood what Thacker meant._

“Why is this happening now? Duck,sweetheart, did I do something?”

“N-no, no, fuck, I, I had to.” He forces in a breath, shoves it back out, “when I lost him, I, I couldn’t, it was like every part of me had been ripped out and replaced by this endless grief. I couldn’t do anythin for months, barely ate or drank, to anyone on the outside it looked like I was dyin’. So I went to Aubrey and her mama, back when she was still alive, and, and I asked...I asked ‘em to lock everythin away. I wouldn’t forget him, but I wouldn’t remember either. I knew if I had to live with the memories, with all the fuckin sadness and loss, I wouldn’t make it much longer. Joe came with me, so did Vincent and Thacker, all of ‘em just to support me because Aubrey said it would be a rough spell to undergo. I, I been so fuckin careful, but when I said he was my Indrid, it all came back. Still comin’ too.” Another sob overtakes him, and in the haze of long-buried sorrow made sharp and new, he sees fear flash over Indrid. 

“I d-don’t, ‘Drid, I don’t care about you just cause you got some part of his powers. I, fuck I’m so goddamn in love with you, with _you_ , and, and, _fuck_ ” he slams his fist into a pillow in frustration, “fuck why can’t I make it sound right.”

“I...I understand.” Indrid says softly, thumbing his cheek to wipe away a tear, “At least I think I do. We should talk about this more, but right now we need to manage the broken spell. Do you need me to, hmmm, shall I call Aubrey?”

“Worth a shot.” He can breathe a little better now.

No, wait, he comes another wave of it, memories linked with feelings linked with loss. 

Indrid dresses quickly, grabbing some coins from a jar, “I’ll be as quick as I can. Just hold on my sweet.” He kisses Duck’s forehead, and then the front door is banging shut as Duck fumbles about for the Mothman plush, drawing it to his chest with a painful, endless sob.  
\------------------------------------------  
“Fuck, it broke that bad?” 

“Yes. Or, well, I cannot think of how it could have been worse.” Indrid glances over his shoulder back towards the Winnebago. 

“Okay, just keep him as comfortable as you can and I’ll be over soon.”

He’s about to thank Aubrey when a roar charges from the woods and shakes the glass of the phone booth.

“Ummmm, what the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know.” Indrid whispers, “But it’s very close.”

“Shit, it’s gotta be the bom-bom. Get inside and hide, we’ll be there, don’t worry.”

“I am very worried.” He says to the dead line before sprinting back to Winnie. 

Inside, Duck’s sounds of sorrow and intermingled with those of pain.

“Fuck, shit, ‘Drid, the abomination, I think it’s back, it’s fuckin’ with my powers, it’s like I can barely move. Shut, shut off the lights and maybe it’ll pass us by.”

Inrid sits for a moment, scanning futures carefully. Even with the disruptions, he sees that Duck is wrong. If they lay low, it finds them both. But if he confronts it, he might buy them time. He might be able to protect Duck. 

He runs to the bed, grabs Beacon from beneath it.

“Stay here, please.”

“‘Drid, don’t, fuck, I can’t lose you too.”

“And I don’t want to lose you. So trust me when I say this is what must be done.”

He steps from the trailer into the dark, empty campsite. From the treeline, several red eyes, many feet from the ground, lock onto him. He draws Beacon, steels what’s left of his nerves.

“Alright, here goes nothing.”


	9. New Experiences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid does his best. Mama takes aim. Duck reveals some things.

What comes out of the trees first are the eyes and two sets of legs, and Indrid grips Beacon tightly when he sees the nature of the creature currently looking at him like he’s dinner.   
It’s as if someone foolishly made a gigantic tarantula and then bred it with a porcupine, quills and dark spiny fur covering a many-legged, mandible-clacking, nightmare-inducing frame. 

“Fuck me.” Indrid fights to see the future as the abomination emerges further. He has to move, even if he dodges the monster striking at him, it will hit the trailer and injure Duck. It’s not a graceful run, but it’s fast, and as he passes by the abominations right side he swings Beacon out into the air, a screech echoing in his wake as he heads deeper into the trees. 

“Yeeeeees, yeeeees, at last I shall taste the blooood of a fooee.”

“Not helpful!” Indrid glances behind him as the abomination gives chase. The trees will protect him, the thing can’t be that mobile in a cluttered space.

The abomination squeezes in on itself, allowing it to maneuver easily. Indrid hisses and acts on the only impulse he can think of. He ducks, and it skitters right over him. If he were faster, he’d swipe at a leg. If he were stronger, he’d stand and try to catch it’s underbelly. Were he a hero, he’d know how to kill it easily. 

Indrid, like most people, has long held the belief that when faced with an immense danger, he’d find within him an unknown, untapped reserve of skill and bravery. In some hidden corner of himself, he believed a hero was waiting to emerge. 

The abomination stops, turning, and when it face him this time it shoots a barrage of quills, barring his escape. He’s unscathed, but just barely, thanks to curling into a ball. It clacks it’s mandibles twice, looking very pleased with itself.

He’s not a hero. He’s a nobody artist alone in the woods, frightened out of his skin.

All the same, he forces his feet to support him, stands and points Beacon at the abomination. 

“Go away. Just...just go away. Please.”

The monster screeches, quills on end, and Indrid braces as it charges him. 

A _crack_ as the abomination is knocked from it’s path into a stand of trees, shaking it’s head and screaming as a figure drops from it’s face, clawed feet landing on the ground. 

“Look you fuckin oversized orb-weaver, you’re in my fuckin woods. Don’t give a shit what you’ve done to drain my powers, I’m still big and got a lotta sharp edges and I’m fucking pissed, so just give up now.” Duck bellows teeth bared, manages to whip a vine across the monsters eyes as he steps back, finding Indrid with one hand. 

“Know you told me to stay back. But I can’t, darlin. This is my home.”

“That is either the bravest or most foolish thing I’ve ever heard.”

“This from the fella who let a monster chase him just to protect me.” Duck smiles, cracks his neck as the creature locks onto them once more, “let’s hope this works.”

He reaches out with both hands and with a growl of effort, splits form in the earth on side of him. Twined wood forms a hilt, then two blades, and before Indrid’s eyes the weapons change from dull wood to sharp steel. 

Duck stands tall, but Indrid can hear his breathing turn labored; are weapons any good to them if Duck can’t move?

He doesn’t get to find out. 

Fire bursts in an arc through the trees, catching the abomination on it’s flank. It screeches like a dying crow, launches quills in the direction of the unseen attacker. 

“Aubrey, what’ve I said about fire attacks in the woods?”

“You’re welcome!”

“Straight for the eyes this time y’all, let’s finish this fucker.” Mama hoists her shotgun,sending a blast towards the abominations face. Just in time, quills drop across it’s eyes like a shield.

“Damn it all.” Boyd lowers his weapon, having been aiming for the same spot, “we got a plan B?”

A howl as a dark, hairy shape springs into the air. Stern lands on the abominations face, clawing and biting at the quills until traces of glowing red are once again visible. 

“Joe, get clear, I can’t get a decent shot!”

“Working on--shit!” Stern scrambles to keep his grip as the creature spins, sending quills out blindly into the darkness. Duck pulls Indrid down, both of them covering their heads,snarls in pain when a spine catches his shoulder. There’s a faint, metallic _zing_ followed by a literally earth shaking thud. 

Indrid looks up in time to see Dani touch the downed monstrosity, the spiny frame cracking open and dissolving as white light drifts up into the sky. She bends down, retrieves a small knife and hands it to Aubrey. 

“Good thinking firebug.”

“Thanks honey.” Aubrey trots over to the pair on the ground, holds out her hand, “and smart going on your part, Indrid. If we’d had to fight that thing in the open where people might see it, we woulda been fuuuuck.” Her eyes widen.

“Aint that bad, scales have their uses” Duck pulls the quill free. 

The searing pain in his thigh tells Indrid Aubrey was not referring to the Sylph. Looking down reveals a smaller quill, broken and jabbed into his leg. Red stains his pajama pants, seeping out onto the forest floor. 

“Oh dear.” He looks to Duck, forming the words “I’m alright, really.” And then he passes out with a crunch of pine needles.   
\-------------------------------------  
“That was some quick thinking to tag that blighter while it was down.” Boyd finishes locking up the Cryptonomica as Dani sets their shoes by the door. 

“Thanks. I’m kind of worried, should we have stayed to make sure Duck got Indrid back okay?” 

“Nah. He’s got Aubrey if they need magic, Mama if they need muscle, and Stern if they need a monster. Lad’ll be fine. Sorta shocked he had it in him, after all his talk the other day.”

“I guess...I guess if I’d been in his position and Aubrey had been in Duck’s I would have done the same thing. Loving someone makes it easier to be brave.”

Boyd bites back the urge to correct her, to tell her love can only change your nature so much. Instead he smiles, ruffles her hair, “get to bed you hippie, can’t have your sentimentality rubbin off on me. Bad for my image.” 

Dani punches him playfully, calls her goodnight as she heads up the stairs. 

A prickle at the base of his skull, the kind that kept him out of trouble time and again, keeps him from following her and dropping into a well deserved sleep in his own room. He heads into his office, then through the trick door to his inner sanctum. 

It’s empty. All his prizes, his regrets, ever single fucking item is gone. 

Every item save for a note at the center of the floor. 

_Consider this a start on the recompense you owe me. See you soon, my dear Boyd.  
-E.K.C_  
\----------------------------------------------------  
The first thing Indrid sees is a yellow and pink moth. It’s fluttering along the petals of a honeysuckle blooming just above his head. Unless he grew a green thumb, and an entire garden, overnight, he’s going to assume he’s not in the trailer. 

Sitting up tells him he’s back in Duck’s house. Who else would put an entire canopy of sweet-smelling vines around the small bed, or have thought to bring his mothman plush into the woods for him?

Mothman. Goodness, they still have so much to talk about. 

Indrid swings his legs over the edge of the bed an instant before remembering he had injured one. To his shock, no pain reverberates up his thigh and he can move as usual. Magical friends have their benefits. 

Or he’s been asleep for months.

Finding a set of clothes waiting for him on the table, he dresses and ponders his next move. There’s no footsteps of rustling fabric, so he must be alone in the house. He wants to speak to Duck soon, but would rather not go wandering into the woods at--he peers out the window and spots the moon--some hour of the night. 

The patchwork treelimbs of the ceiling open, dropping a rope ladder into the air in front of him. Taking the hint leads him to the roof and, more importantly, the person tending to the vegetable patch growing on said roof.

“Hey sugar, nice to see you awake. Your leg feelin’ okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Aubrey who needs most of the thanks; she was forest fire fast on patchin you up. You only been out two days.”

“Two _days_?”

Duck shrugs, “Joe was once out for a full week after a bad injury from an abomination.”

“Gracious.” Indrid sits down on a patch of moss. He gets a glimmer of a future where Duck leans over and nuzzles him, sighs that he was so worried about him. 

In this timeline, Duck stays silent, lost in thought as his hands make holes and fill them with seedlings. 

“We need to talk about Indrid. The, ah, the other Indrid. Don’t we?”

“Yeah.” Duck sniffs, stares up at the sky, “fuck, I don’t even know where to start. I, uh, I meant what I said, that the way I feel for you has got nothin’ to do with, with him. I mean, guess it explains why the woods went wild when you got here; they sensed that little bit of him in you, even if I was so thickheaded to misread what they were tellin me. And, well, I had the last few days to think, and there are things you got in common with him. A mannerism here, turn of phrase there, and you both draw so well it’s like magic.”

“I see.” Indrid’s fingers twitch in his lap, nerves crawling through them like caterpillars. 

“But you ain’t him. I fell for you well before you found all that out and the things I love about you...well, again there’s some overlap I suppose, but I love you for you, for bein' my messy, awkward, creative, completely fuckin amazin ‘Drid.”

Indrid hugs himself, “I’m worried how I feel for you is somehow false, or not, not my own. That if he gave me these powers, perhaps he left other things behind in me as well.”

The look on Duck’s face shows Indrid is not alone in his fear.

“Yet, the more I think about it, the less I believe it’s true. The things I love in you Duck, they are things I’ve searched for most of life. Things I’ve loved in past partners. In my heart, I think I fell in love with you by chance, not by destiny.”

“Gotta say, I can’t see Indrid doin’ that. Makin it so you’d only love me because of him. I...for someone who spent his whole life dealin with fate and futures, he hated the idea of destiny almost as much as I did. Doubt he’d make it so someone didn’t have a choice about who they loved.”

“Even for your sake? Even if, if it was his way of giving some part of him back to you, if he foresaw his death would hurt you so badly and wanted to make it up to you? A person who was supposed to be a conduit for him and nothing more?” The fear slithers into the air between them and Indrid recoils; surely Duck will be angry with him for implying such things about the person he loved. 

Golden eyes scan his face carefully. The Duck reaches out and carefully dislodges Indrid’s hands from his sides to hold them. 

“Indrid Cold, you ain’t anybodies conduit. And if he did mean for you to be, well, soon as the Quell is fixed I’ll figure out a way to summon him and give him a piece of my mind. And you ain’t some balm or consolation prize for me now that he’s gone. You’re you. I’ll be grievin’ him a long time--and with how that spell worked, might be quite a bit of cryin in the mix, since I got decades of it built up--but I can miss the fella I loved then while still given every damn bit of my heart I can to the fella I love now. I wanna be with you, ‘Drid, and I wanna be the best goddamn partner you ever had. But if that ain’t what you want, or if you need time to rethink things on account of all this, I’ll back off.”

“Don’t. Please.” Indrid clings to his hands, “finding you, being with you, it is one of the few decisions in my life I do not regret even a little."

Strong, scaled arms pull him close and he curls up in Duck’s lap. One hand takes his and guides it along his chest, letting him soothe himself on his scales, a slight tingle creeping into his fingers as Duck purrs, low and rhythmic.

“What do you need, little moth?”

The list would fill the forest. The history dripping from his mind makes his tongue too heavy to ask for even one item on it.

He swallows, “just to be held. To, to be, loved. As I am.”

A gentle kiss on his brow, “Think I can manage that.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------  
Technically, he could have gone home two days ago. But, laying a top his warm, sturdy, vaguely be-foliaged boyfriend, Indrid struggles to be homesick. He has no pets, no commissions due for several days, and Stern brought his library books by (“Duck asked me to stop by the trailer and make sure the heaters were all off so you didn't cause a forest fire”). He has nowhere to be but here, Duck’s claws lazily caressing his back as he lays on his stomach and reads. The Sylph’s free hand holds a guide to Brazilian fauna that Duck is captivated by and occasionally turns to show Indrid pictures from. 

They’ve passed the last few days much like this. Indrid will rise and draw while Duck is off at work, the house always eager to supply him with fruit if he gets hungry. Then the Sylph will return, chatting merrily about his day and inquiring about Indrid’s as they sit at the table for dinner. The remainder of the night passes in one bed or another, the two linked together in some formation or another to read or cuddle or trade exploratory, soft kisses in the darkness. Tonight is a bit different. 

Tonight, Indrid happens to be reading a very explicit chapter in _Gold Dust in his Veins_. 

He wiggles, shifts up slightly in hopes his budding hard-on will be less noticeable against Duck’s stomach. Having it so close to his inner thigh seems high risk. 

“You droppin hints, sugar?” The drawl is casual, Duck not even bothering to look at him. 

“No, ah, it’s just, ah, rather, rather good part in the book. I, I should get off.” He makes to roll onto the mattress, only for large hands to grip his ass, copper thumbnails pricking his hips through his thin pants. 

“Yeah, I think you should.” The clicking growl is back as Duck drags his gaze down Indrid’s body, stopping at his cock and licking his lips. 

“D-do you want me too?” It’s not fear making his voice fail, though the sudden, keen awareness of their relative sizes, Duck’s teeth and fangs, and just how alone he is out here are not helping the situation in his pants. 

Duck tilts his head one way, then the other, “Depends. You okay with me bein’ like this?

“Yes. I, ah, it’s just, I fear my experience with non-human partners is, ah, limited.”

Duck smirks, “Limited?”

“Non-existent.”

“Guess we oughta start with this, then.” Duck undoes the wrap around his hips and Indrid’s mind runs through a series of cartoonish sound effects as he discovers it’s contents. Emerging from a slit in his scales, Duck’s cock is conical, covered in much smaller, overlapping scales and broken up by three vertical ridges.

“You’re immense.”

Duck breaks out into giggles, one hand gliding up Indrid’s back to pull him down into a hug.

“Look, I know it’s stating the obvious, but sometimes the obvious needs stating."

Duck giggles harder, Indrid joining in on the sound and kissing his neck as the Sylph wheezes with laughter. Duck is still chuckling as he lets Indrid up.

“Yeah, there’s a reason I don’t whip it out on the first date. ‘Specially not when I’m dealin with somethin as fine as this.” Both hands are on Indrid’s ass again, but instead of a squeeze he gets a shove, moaning as Duck forces him to push his still-clothed cock forward across his belly. 

“C’mon now, sugar, you saw mine. Now I wanna see yours.”

“You’ve, you’ve already seen miIIne.” Another shove, another burst of pleasure. 

“So? Wanna see it again.” The claws of his thumb and forefinger tear the front of Indrid’s pants away with alarming ease. 

“Sorry, ain’t feelin patient. Promise I’ll buy you new ones. Or, uh, if you really like those, someone at the lodge can fix ‘em for you. Now.” he pins Indrid down by his hips so his cock has no choice but to be enveloped by the thick fur and the cool scales beneath, “you gonna be a good little human and cum like this?”

“Yes.” Indrid whimpers, pawing Duck’s chest.

“Good answer.” Duck releases his hold and Indrid immediately ruts forward, works his hips short and sharp, gripping Duck’s pecs to steady himself. 

“Lookit you, you look so fuckin cute up there.” Duck reaches up, trails a claw along Indrid’s chest, arousal chasing some primal fear, the last of Indrid’s survival instincts, away. Then the claw twirls back up, prickling his neck on it’s way to his lips, Duck cooing lovingly when he reaches them, “love how your lips look when you get goin’, all the little sounds you make. I wonder though, will that sweet little mouth be able to take me?”

Indrid moans at the thought, then strangles out a gasp as two fingers are shoves between his lips. 

“I mean, you’re strugglin to take these. Won’t even be able to get the tip in without a fight, and that’s before we get to fuckin your throat.”

Indrid moans again, savoring the rougher scales on his tongue and carefully sucking so the claws don’t prick his cheeks. 

“You like that? Want me to give you the chance to try suckin my dick?” Duck removes his fingers, smearing spit across Indrid’s cheeks as he pleads with him. 

“Yes, yes, please I want, I want to try, I want to take you, all of you, any way you want, Duck, please let me be good.”

“My obedient little moth.” Duck’s voice and eyes are tender as he guides Indrid down for a kiss. It’s somewhat awkward when he’s a Sylph, but that hasn’t stopped them in the slightest. Indrid’s learned how to nip the sensitive spots as he strokes Duck’s cheeks, and Duck’s learned how not to misjudge the distance between them and accidentally bonk Indrid in the face with his shout. 

As Indrid frantically kisses his cheek, Duck laughs, all traces of their roles gone.

“Can’t believe you actually wanna try gettin that in your mouth but keep insistin you ain’t brave.” 

“I’m not and I there is, gaahn, no “try” about it. And it’s not, not just going in my mouth, not if I have anything to say about it. I want you everywhere I can have you, my, my sweet Duck.”

Another growl and he’s yanked backwards by his hips, bringing his ass flush with the top side of Duck’s cock. He groans, delighted, testing the feel of the small scales on his skin.   
“It’s, it’s remarkably wet.” He glances behind him to see liquid beading out beneath each row of hexagons. 

“So that whoever I’m fuckin don’t gotta do all the work gettin slick. Or in, uh, your case Ohhhfuck.” Duck lets out a deep purr as he drags Indrid’s ass up and then back down along his cock, “we won’t have to buy a goddamn oil drum of lube just so I can fuck this tight little ass.”

“I feel like most asses are tight when contrasted with thaAAAtohgod.” Duck’s nails leave five red dots in each asscheek as he jerks Indrid up and down with greater force. He no longer has the fur for friction, and the scales on Ducks abdomen are as smooth as the ones on his chest. But he’s close all the same, pre-cum spreading on Duck’s navel and staining the stray shreds of his pants that catch in it. It’s heady, being moved so easily, and whines when Duck picks up the pace.

“Duck I, I’m, goodness, should I-”

“You’re gonna cum and then I’m gonna do whatever the fuck I want.” Duck’s jaws snap shut at the same second Indrid moans and pumps his hips in fevered, needy jolts.

“Shit, fuck, I, I didn’t mean it to sound like that, ‘Drid, you can say stop whenever you want and I will, I promise, wait, did you-”

“Like it yes, goodness yes. I want you to, I trust you to do whatever you like to me, god Duck please I want you, I want, I wantAH.” The orgasm knocks the last of his balance away, and he flops onto Duck’s chest even as cum continues dripping onto their stomachs. Duck strokes his hair, clickpurrs softly until his hips still and his legs untense. 

Then the world turns several degrees and directions at once as Indrid is flipped onto his side, one arm snaking beneath his armpits to press his back to Ducks chest while the other pulls his thighs apart. Thin, sticky liquid dribbles onto his thighs and balls as Duck guides his cock between his legs. Then he shuts them, pressing down on the leg on top so hard Indrid knows he has no chance of opening them. 

“Fuuuuck” Duck growls, hand splaying across Indrid’s chest, “love bein’ able to hold you like this little moth.” He shifts his hips, hot breath dripping down Indrids neck, “now you be good and hold tight.”

“Why? OH, ohohohoh” Indrid arches his back, grabbing onto Ducks forearm in shock as the Sylph thrusts against him. The scales ripple between his thighs, pre-cum streaks down his legs, and Duck’s cock catches and jostles his own again and again. The relentless sensation on an already sensitive spot makes him squeak and squirm, but instead of hating it as he always assumed he would, pleasure floods through him. He can’t get away unless Duck lets him, the near-painful, slick drag on his cock won’t end until the Sylph is done with him. Until he’s satisfied. But some part of him resists tipping full on into his desire, keeps him peeking over the edge of it for fear giving in will render him somehow useless. Somehow no more than a toy, and while he wants Duck to have his way with him, being a toy is too close to being a blank space.

“Duck” he whimpers and a rumbled clicking vibrates down his back. 

“Right here, sugar, I got you. Just let go.” A tongue finds his cheek, licks it lovingly over and over, “you’re all mine, don’t gotta worry about nothin’ else.”

“I, I need-”he can’t say it, it sounds so pathetic.

Duck’s hips slow, the snout nuzzles and noses his hair and face, “Whatever it is, it’s yours.”

“My, my name. Please, _please_.” 

A pause, then sharp teeth nipping his ear, a sing-song to the growl of “Indrid.”

He whimpers, tries to hide his face in Duck’s arm as the drawl continues, “my Indrid, sweet Indrid, little moth of mine.”

“Yes, yesyesOH! Uh, Duck?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh, means I’m gettin close.” 

Indrid blinks down at the lower third of Duck’s cock, which has gone from flat to flared, bumping his thighs each time Duck thrusts.

“It’s a, uh, matin thing, so to speak.”

“Too…?”

A laugh, muscular arms clamping around him, “to keep you from gettin’ away before I’m done.”

“Oh god” Indrid bucks forward, cock trying to rally at the thought of Duck locked inside him, filling him, fucking him until he’s drained and Indrid is no more than a boneless heap of blissed-out nerves.

He relaxes in Ducks arms, stops trying to stifle his moans as they bounce out of him. Duck grunts with each thrust, filling Indrid’s ears with his own name, with a thousand filthy compliments that spread a blush all along his torso. 

“Good boy, Indrid, so good, fuck, sugar, if your thighs feel this fuckin nice I cannot wait to, nnnhfuck, fuck the rest of you. Gonna, gonna find every way to fuck you, mark every fuckin inch of you with my cum so, so everyone knows your mine. Mine, ‘Drid, all mine, allfuck, oh _fuck_ me darlin’, lookit you” this Duck growls as he cums, clear spurting across the bed and oozing down Indrid’s lower body. He’s vaguely aware of cum reaching his toes, but he doesn’t care. If Duck wants another round, wants to spend all night with his cock right where it is, Indrid will do it. If Duck wants to turn human and for Indrid to fuck him, he’ll do that to.

“‘Drid?”

“Nnn?” He finds Duck has pulled back and loosened his hold so Indrid can turn in his arms.

“You with me, sugar?”

“I...I think so” the rose tint is fading from his eyes, but even so he giggles, “your horns. They’ve, ah” he makes “poof” motion with his hands as Duck reaches up and notices the purple and red blossoms.

“Heh, that ain’t happened in awhile. Must be the company.” He plucks a red flower, tucking it behind Indrid’s ear as he cradles him. Indrid’s most of the way back now, the world a stew of concrete sensations rather than an image he’s floating above. 

“...Please tell me we are not sleeping on this blanket?”

“Nope” Duck climbs off the bed, gingerly scooping Indrid up as several vines emerge from thin air and strip the bed, “And we ain’t sleepin covered in all sorts of fluids either. C’mon.”

Indrid soon finds himself in the tub, built big enough that Duck can fit comfortably and still have Indrid in his lap. He rubs the cum and sweat from Indrid’s skin in gentle circles, shows Indrid how to clean his scales (which Indrid does with the untempered delight one feels for learning the minutiae of a lover's body), and unintentionally makes water lilies bloom each time Indrid catches his eye and smiles at him. 

Washed and dried, they snuggle into bed, Duck loathe to release his hold on the human, which pairs nicely with Indrid’s desire to not let go of him for even an instant. They curl up together, Indrid once again resting on Duck’s chest and stomach, as cicadas thrum in the trees and moths flutter past the window. 

Indrid knows there are worse things coming; the futures hint at it, and experience has taught him to expect the bad timelines instead of the good. He’s not certain things will turn out alright in the end. 

But here, Duck snoring softly beneath him as he closes his eyes, he knows everything is perfect.


	10. Sparring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boyd makes a deal. Indrid works on his swordsmanship. Duck gets an idea.

“I can’t believe we’re doin’ this again.” Mama grumbles, shuffling the note cards Stern prepared for her. 

“Reconciliation is persistent, which I would admire were it not making me go grey.” 

“I like the grey.” Barclay hugs his boyfriend from behind, smiling encouragingly at Mama, “you did great at the last hearing. Plus, like, most people in town don’t wanna fuck with you.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, big fella.” Mama smiles, pats Barclay on the shoulder, and heads to front of the room, where Juno is waiting next to an empty seat. 

“You’re sure you’re alright to be here?” Stern cocks an eyebrow as he and Barclay take their seats behind Stern and Duck.

“Fuck, Joe, I got some self-control. I ain’t gonna make those ferns over there run over and smack anyone who thinks buildin a goddamn housin complex in my woods is a good idea. Might perk ‘em up a bit. They look kinda sick.”

“Duck.”

“Okay, okay.” Duck lifts his hands in surrender. Indrid smirks when he spots the nearest fern getting its color back, Duck winking at him conspiratorially. 

A council member calls the meeting to order, and Juno speaks first, explaining the importance of the woods from an environmental standpoint and the possible fallout, including mudslides, if too much of it is lost to development. Mama is next, plying her role of humble small business owner to the hilt as she discusses how to woods are a boon to the tourism industry in town and how damaging them will only lead to Kepler falling into decline. 

The crowd seems to be swayed, and several of the council members are exchanging what seem to be words and expressions of agreement. 

“Now we just have to get through Reconciliations B.S and we’ll be clear.” Stern murmurs. 

From the group of well-scrubbed Reconciliation representatives, an older man stands up and walks towards the podium. Funny, he’s dressed much louder than the others, and Indrid can’t recall seeing him around the campsite. 

In front of him, Boyd stiffens for a moment, then forces his shoulders back into a posture of relaxed disinterest. 

“Residents of fair Kepler, I first must commend these two charming women for their compelling arguments. But I have here in my pocket a list of reasons why Reconciliation should, nay, must, be allowed to move forward with their project.”

Dani snorts softly, “Jesus, if he talks like that everyone’s going to be asleep before he makes his point.”

“Dunno” Boyd mutters, “these old bastards can be convincing.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------  
“This is absurd!” Stern snarls, ears back in annoyance as he paces about the safehouse beneath the lodge, “all our work, all that bureaucracy and arguing and they change their minds after one speech from some, some-”

“Easy, babe” Barclay goes to rub Stern’s shoulder but, due to his boyfriend having two feet on him like this, settles for scratching his chest soothingly.

“But I did so much _paperwork_.” Stern ends the sentence with a whine, sitting down on the couch with his arms crossed. 

“Yeah, well, we better figure out a new plan. They start buildin, their liable to scare up more abominations. Or end up in Sylvain on accident. And then the last fifty years of work keepin the two from fightin will be fucked.” Mama cleans her shotgun, shaking her head as she does. 

“Can’t we at least get out ahead of the abominations? You said they only came every two months.” Indrid gnaws the end of his pen thoughtfully. 

“They used to. But that one you helped us take down was a month early. Which means somethin’s fuckin up the schedule. Unpredictability is the last goddamn thing we need right now.”

Indrid sighs, looks back down at the drawing. He’s been only paying half-attention to the image, and is startled to find a jagged, immense hole with buildings tipping into it. It’s the tenth time he’s drawn or dreamed this scene this week. But the timeline never offers context, and he can’t tell where or when the disaster takes place. 

He wishes Duck were here to lean against, but the Sylph took off after the meeting to find Juno in hopes of hatching a plan to stall the now approved development. 

“All the same, you two” Mama points to Barclay and Indrid, “need to start trainin.’ If we’re gonna be goin’ up against abominations without out warnin, everyone needs to be ready to fight. Indrid, you still willin to take Leo up on his offer?”

“Yes. Though I may plead for a new weapon.”

“Could bring a goddamn pillow into battle for all I care, so long as it’s lethal. Barclay, might not hurt to have Boyd train you on hand to hand stuff on top of Vincent teachin you to shoot. Speakin of which, where is that no-good conman?”

“He went home” Dani calls from her spot beside Aubrey, “right after the meeting. He said he wasn’t feeling well.”  
\------------------------------------------------------  
It’s like sitting in a memory; the stale air of a hotel room, the anticipation strung through his chest. The sensation of waiting in the darkness for him to come back.

The deadbolt turns, light sneaks in from the carpeted hallway. 

Ned doesn’t even turn the light on before speaking.

“Hello, my dear Boyd.”

“Edmund.” Boyd nods, keeping the angrier words behind his teeth. 

“You haven’t changed in the slightest, I see.” The light flicks on and his old partner in crime comes into full view. He’s still wearing the same stupidly bright orange tie he had on at the meeting, and Boyd is either going to pull him into a kiss or throttle him with it.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ned. I might be a crooked old con, but I actually like this little backwater. Or at least some of the folks who live in it.”

“Yes, I noted you were present among the ‘save the forest contingent.’ What happened to the Boyd who had no interest in bleeding hearts?”

“Must’ve died along with the Edmund who had no interest throwin’ in with a bunch of slick developers.”

“Needs must, my dear Boyd.” Ned removes his pinstriped jacket, hanging it by the door, “I had not a penny to my name when the great state of West Virginia released me back into polite society.”

“And what’s all the loot you lifted from me? Worthless?”

“Payment of a different kind. An apology for abandoning me in my hour of need.” Ned looks hurt for an instant. And that infuriates him.

“We agreed every man for himself! The cops were coming down the road, you were out cold, and there was no fuckin’ way I could outrun ‘em while draggin’ you with me. You woulda done the same fuckin thing. You’re the one who crashed the bloody car in the first place!”

“And what of all the years after that?” Ned crosses his arms, “not a visit. Not a letter. No indication that you remembered or cared that I existed.”

“I you thought I was gonna risk them trackin’ me down just to send you a note tellin you what you already knew, you’ve got a bleedin’ screw loose.”

“What, exactly, did I know?”

“That I was worried about you! That I, I-” He rests his hands on his knees, inhales as he counts the dots in the bedspread, “no. That ain’t why I’m here. I’m here to ask for somethin’ back.”

Ned laughs in his face, a booming sound that Boyd used to find endearing and now just makes him want to hurl the AC unit through the window. 

“The necklace. I need that back. I, I know someone who needs it. Who...who deserves to have it back. Please.” The word floats between them, sucking the air from the room.

“Hmmmm” Ned taps his chin, leaning against the wall, “there is something you could do for me. Something you could steal that would replace the gap left by the necklace.”

“Anything.” He swore it off, but if one more job can help him make things right…

“A carving, a very valuable one that’s currently in the workshop of that Lodge up in the woods.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious, dear Boyd.”

Mama plans to sell that carving to cover the lodge utilities come the hard months. If he steals it and she finds out he could lose everyone. He could lose Dani. Assuming Mama didn’t just shoot him when she got wise to the plan.

“You don’t want that, it’s just a hunk of wood.”

“A hunk of wood collectors would pay top dollar for. Surely if this necklace is so important you can manage that one little job. The place is hardly secure.”

He massages his temples, feeling less like the predator laying in wait and more like the prey in the corner.

“Fine. I’ll get your bloody statue. Gimme a week and it’s yours.”

“See? There’s that good sense I knew was hiding in between the bulk.” Ned steps to the door, opens it, “I think it’s time for you to go, old friend. It was so nice to catch up. And remember; if you don’t procure what I require, the deal is off.”  
\----------------------------------------------------------  
“Widen your stance a bit, yeah, that’s better.” Duck’s scales glint in the dappled light as he grins at Indrid, “you ready to spar again.”

“As I’ll ever be.” Indrid hoists Beacon, now with a thick layer of duck tape over his horrible mouth.

Yes, technically he should be training with Leo. And the shopkeeper was incredibly kind in offering him that help. But fighting, trying to be coordinated, aggressive and strong all at once is too tall an order to do in front of a man who’s an acquaintance at best. He can fail and make a fool of himself in front of Duck. It still stings to be reminded of his deficiencies in the hero department for two hours, but at least there’s someone there to stroke his hair and soothe his ego with kisses and honest praise.

Plus, watching Duck work up a sweat demonstrating his strength and skill improves Indrid’s mood tremendously. 

Duck swings his blunted, wooden sword, and Indrid parries twice before catching a whack to the side.

“Remember, don’t try’n anticipate it, stay in the moment and watch what’s actually happenin.”

“Right.” Indrid jabs, growls when Duck easily evades him, “How is something so big so fast?”

Duck snickers.

“Apologies, I’m, I’m just a little frustrated.”

“First off, I got over a century of practice. Second, get out of your head, ‘Drid.”

“I’m _trying_.”

“Get. out.” On each word he swipes through the air, landing a blow on each of Indrid’s thighs. 

“Stop OW that” Indrid hisses a little when he fails to dodge yet another whack. 

“You gotta make me. That’s the whole point.” Duck is grinning again as he continues poking and slapping Indrid with the flat of the blade.

Indrid grits his teeth, focuses on the arc of the blade, and blocks. 

“Good!”

“Hah! OWdamnit, quit doing that.” He manages to knock the next strike aside and nearly lands a mark on Duck’s shoulder. Duck swings and Indrid is sick of being whacked, blocks it with a little snarl before advancing on his sparring partner. 

“Much better! Keep goin’, channel that feelin’, you’re doin’ great.” 

Indrid blushes with pride instead of frustration, does his best to drive Duck back into a tree. He drops to a crouch, comes up and catches Duck on the knee.

“Good.” It’s a growl this time, Duck spinning to follow him with another swipe of his blade. Indrid reorients himself in space, and gets an idea. 

He retreats, blocking rather than attacking, pretending his balance is taking a turn for the worse. Then Duck swings high and Indrid drops all the way down, meaning the Sylph’s sword catches the truck of the tree directly behind the human, and with so much force behind it the impact jolts the blade from Duck’s hand. 

Indrid scrambles to his feet, blade pointing triumphantly at Duck’s throat. 

“I win.” He pants, sweat starting to sting his eyes. 

“Almost.” 

Duck twirls a finger and two vines trap Indrid’s wrists, yanking them above his head before wrenching Beacon from his hands. The sword clunks to the ground and Indrid huffs, annoyed, and tries to kick Duck’s legs from under him. 

“See, knew there was a fighter in there.” Duck smirks as two more vines slither from the earth and clamp Indrid’s feet to the ground. 

“Blasted plant powers.”

“Hey, you saw that abomination; they all got some kind of weird power. I’m just preparin you for that.”

“Hmmmph.”

Duck reaches out, stroking Indrid’s cheeks and trailing a thumb along his jaw, “if you need me to not use ‘em for the time bein’, we can do that. I don’t want you feelin’ like I’m lordin’ it over you.”

“I just...I’m terrible at this.”

“No, you ain’t. You’re a fast learner, and I’m already seein’ so much improvement from you.” Duck kisses his forehead and Indrid sighs, drooping his head forward when Duck straightens, resting it on his chest. 

“Not to mention it’s real hot watchin you train.” 

“Likewise.” Indrid chuckles, nuzzling him. 

“My sweet little moth, I’m so proud of you.”

“Nnnnn” Indrid whimpers, kissing his scales. 

“It’s true. You’re so, so…” He takes a half step back, words failing him at the sight of Indrid bound, the fight still flickering on his eyes, the perfect counterpoint to the fact his lips are taking on a pout. God, his pulse is pounding. 

No, wait, that’s not his pulse. It’s Indrid’s, he can feel it through the vines binding his wrists. 

“Duck, ah, are, are you doing this?” Indrid tilts his head, indicating the space behind him. Duck hurries to see, discovers smaller vines branching from the ones on Indrid’s feet and curving up his legs. Vines that are trying to get into Indrid’s pants. 

“I ain’t sure.”

“What?”

“They’re small enough that I can’t tell if I’m feelin what they are. Lemme see if-”

“Yeeep!” Indrid thrashes for a moment as the vines make it beneath his clothes, squeezing his ass just as Duck told them to.

“Yep, those are mine. Sorry, here, lemme untie you.”

Indrid whines, shakes his head, making Duck manifest a vine around his thighs on accident. When this gets him a choked-out “yes,” Duck’ brain finally catches up with the moment. 

“Heh, y’know, I thought you just liked the vines because you were horny and needed a hand.”

“They, they were very polite and fun . But this, this is _you_ doing this to me, keeping me all to yourself, touching me everywhere, I, I could let you have all of me this way. I want you to, oh god, Duck please I want it so much.”

“Holy shit.” Duck covers his eyes, counts in for three, out for five, and then snaps.

The vines disappear and Indrid instantly looks frightened, starts curling in on himself, mumbling so softly Duck’s not sure he means for him to hear it at all. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry that was too far, I made you uncomfortable, I must have, how could you possibly not be-”

“I ain’t.” Duck gathers the shaking human into his arms, “but that kind of play ain’t somethin to do spur of the moment, least not the first time. We gotta talk about it. If you got hurt or pushed too far, I’d feel just terrible. You want me to fuck you silly with my powers, I will. But not without makin sure you’re safe, little moth.”

Indrid looks up hopefully, eyes owlish and excited behind his glasses, “can we...talk about it now?”

Duck links their arms, “c’mon, let’s go home first. We can make some notes there, and there’s a box of fruit gushers with your name on it. Literally. So that one raccoon will stop takin ‘em.”  
\------------------------------------------------------  
Indrid hums “Dancing on a Saturday Night” as he follows the path through the trees. When he voiced a worry that someone might if Indrid took the same route each time and wore down the vegetation, Duck set up a spell so a trail of bright orange flowers would lead him a different way every time he visits. 

The note under his door had simply said to meet Duck at the treehouse at seven, and to not be late, so by the time he reaches the stairs he’s tingling with anticipation. 

“Duck?”

“In the bedroom, sugar.”

Indrid grins, liking where this is going. 

Stepping through the bedroom door, he doesn’t see Duck. Then he doesn’t see much besides white as something yanks his shirt over his head. 

Blinking when he frees himself, he spots two vines chucking his tanktop away before unceremoniously hoisting him in the air so two more can make quick work of his shoes, pants, and underwear. Then he’s lowered onto the bed, hands trapped behind him and ankles trapped against the mattress. 

Standing in what was his blindpost is Duck, naked and already filling the room with a deep, clicking, ravenous growl. 

Oh yes, Indrid likes where this is going very much indeed.


	11. Overwhelmed

The first thing Duck does after prowling across the floor is kiss him, clawtips playing along the muscles in his neck.

“You ready for the rules, darlin?” The tongue dips past his teeth one more time before letting him answer with yeses that barely resemble words. 

Duck holds up a finger, “rule one: you need me to stop, you say Beacon. You need to pause or adjust, just say pause. And if you can’t talk, snap twice and I’ll stop.”

“You seem confident that this will render me speechless.” Indrid flutters his lashes at him, remembers the allure of this is likely dampened by his glasses.

“You’ll see, sugar. Got all sorts of ways to keep that sweet little mouth occupied. Now, rule two is real simple: even if we’re playin at me bein’ in charge and usin you like I own you, for the love of fuck don’t do somethin you don’t want just because you think I’ll be upset if you don’t. I’m gonna be rough, and if I get my way I’m gonna wring you dry, but what I want means fuck-all in comparison to makin sure you’re okay.” Duck gently removes Indrid’s glasses, setting them down on the nearby desk, “you want those back at any point, let me know. Fuck, I ani’t ever gonna get tired of seein’ you like this.” He cups Indrid’s face with both hands, studying him. His eyes don’t quite dilate like a humans, dark slits of pupils simply turn round the instant Indrid whines and rubs his face against his palm. 

“Final rule” Duck bends so they’re nose to nose, “barrin stuff that sets off rules one and two, you’re gonna do what I say, take what I give you, and _like_ it.”

“Of, of course I will.” Indrid has never wanted anything half as much as he wants to be good for Duck right now. His mind can’t even process thoughts of vines or scales or magic, it’s too busy making him stare doe-eyed up at his boyfriend in hopes of getting him to understand just how good he plans to be.

“Good boy.” Duck kisses his forehead, then climbs onto the bed behind him, reclining against a headboard that’s already sprouting deep pink, star-shaped flowers. As he extends his legs the vines lift, letting the Sylph stretch out and setting Indrid in a wide straddle across his chest before once again binding his ankles to the bed. 

“Long legs come in handy.” Duck purrs, crawling his nails up the backs of Indrid’s thighs.

“H-hot yoga as well.”

That deep, bird of paradise laugh, “that why the Bago’s so fuckin hot sometimes?”

“Yes. It relaxes me.” Indrid mumbles, “and, and it’s easy to do in the trailer, on my own.” A whole wellspring of babbling is threatening to pour out of his mouth. 

“Mmm, next time do it here. Bet it’s a real show.”

Indrid snickers at the memory of his last attempt, “Not really, there’s a lot of sweating and swearing.” He does his best to look over his shoulder, finds Duck staring unabashedly at his ass. 

“Gonna be just like tonight, then.” 

The vines release his arms just as one large hand rests on the back of his head, sending his gaze between Duck’s legs. The slit between them is open, his cock peeking out in a way Indrid hesitates to call cute but can’t come up with a better word for. 

“Get it all the way out. Then suck.”

Indrid directs enough blood flow back into his brain to figure out that he needs to bend forward in order to follow instructions, then rests his arms in the mossy fur on Duck’s belly for balance. 

What does he do now?

“Ah, Duck? H-how-”

A reassuring stroke along his lower back, “ain’t really a wrong way. Take your time, little moth.”

Indrid shifts awkwardly on his elbows, sticking his tongue out flicking the tip of Duck’s cock. It ripples, pokes out a little further. He licks again, determined, sticky-thin liquid oddly tasteless as it coats his tongue.

“Shhhit” Duck rolls his hips, “good boy, that feels so fuckin’ good sugar.” 

Indrid curls his hand around the emerging base, finds the scales feel more like sturdy leaves than the hard, cool metallic of Duck’s chest and arms. A curious squeeze sends precum streaming between his fingers, and he closes his mouth over the tip to lap the rest of it up. Indrid keeps sucking, soft scales pleasantly novel on his tongue as Duck groans and clicks, sending vibrations up into Indrid’s thighs when he does. Desire is already snaking through his nerves, forming into determination as he remembers his promise to take Duck’s cock in his mouth, size of the thing be damned. But there’s also a strange sense of calm creeping across his mind as he sucks; it’s so soothing, the weight and wet of the cock on his lips, starting to press on his tongue, doubly so when Duck murmurs praise and pet names into the sticky night air. 

Duck is here, Duck will look after him. 

Indrid gives into his instincts a little more, pulls back to kiss along the ridges of the now-hard cock, squeezing lightly at the base because whenever he does he gets to watch Duck’s toes flex and curl. Up close, he can see where the hexagons overlap, and drags the nail of his pinky in one of the gaps in a slow around the shaft.

The vine on his right foot constricts up his leg, smoothing along his ass and sending shivers into every last bone.

He does it again, lips returning to suck the head like it’s an icepop and he’s overheating. 

A new kind of clickgrowl, “said you could take your time, but this is feelin’ real close to teasin’.”

Indrid sucks harder, one hand petting Duck’s belly while the other pumps his cock.

“Heh, then again, maybe I’m just in a rush to get inside you.”

Something slippery and flexible circles Indrid’s rim and he gasps. 

“This’ll do nicely. Whoa, whoa, easy sugar” Duck laughs when Indrid pushes his ass back to try and coax the vine in further, “there’s a reason I’m startin with a thin one. You ain’t warmed up at all.”

“Correction: I am _sweltering_.” Indrid licks frantically at the closest ridge, “Please, I, AHgod _god_.” His whole body tenses as the vine presses inside, not as cold as he feared as it slides in and out.

“You were sayin’?”

Indrid squeaks out thanks as the vine thickens and Duck moans, “your ass is so goddamn good.”

He sighs, delighted, as the vine curls, watches Duck jerk his hips as more pre-cum spills down his cock. Remembers their planning session and Duck explaining the degree to which he can feel with the vines. 

_“Think of it like touchin somethin while wearin’ a glove versus with your bare hand.”_

Steadying himself on his free arm, he sucks the soaking tip back into his mouth, avoiding teeth as best he can because he doesn’t want to find out the hard way that the scales don’t protect against them. At the same instant, he tightens around the vine, still tenderly exploring the first few inches of him. 

“Fuck” Duck’s teeth clack together as he shoves up into Indrid’s mouth and the vine jumps an inch in circumference, “fuck, that’s so fuckin’ good, fuck, shit, forgot how bad I am at soundin’ like I got more’n two braincells when I’m fuckin someone.”

“It’s rather, rather flattering, goodness knows I’ve never been one to render people speechless with desire.” Indrid can’t figure out why his mouth is still dripping even after he wipes the clear fluid from it.

Oh, he’s drooling a little at the way the vine has now split to scissor him open more forcefully. He’d been slightly concerned, even with all his fantasies revolving around it lately, that Duck using his powers on him like this would feel like he was broke and having an ill-advised dalliance with a cucumber because he couldn’t afford a dildo. All those fears scatter like torn paper. The vine is supple and smooth as a silicone, whatever it’s using to slick him up is warm as soon as it touches him. It dawns on him that Duck is probably controlling the temperature since he knows how much Indrid hates the feeling of thick, sticky, cold lube on his skin. 

He dips down to kiss his cock in gratitude, both because it’s the nearest part of the Sylph and because he’s missing the feel of it on his lips.

“Trust me you’ll, fuck, you’ll know when I get speechless. But not just yet, cause I ain’t done telling you how goddamn good you look like this, takin’ me in both ends like the obedient little human you are. And I ain’t done given orders.”

Indrid’s certain Duck can see the shudder that goes through him, certain it ripples his skin like waves. 

“You’re gonna get as much of my cock into your mouth as you can, and you ain’t allowed to pull off until I cum. Can be as sloppy as you please, but your mouth stays fuckin put, you hear?”

He hears perfectly, though it’s soon drowned out by his breath racing in and out of his nose, diving as far down his cock as he dares, lips stretching so wide he pauses to be certain he hasn’t split them. 

Duck is steadily purring all the while, and upside down Indrid can just see him between his legs. His hands are resting behind his head and his tongue is beginning to loll out of his mouth. Indrid fights the urge to try pushing his head further, to see if he can breach the tension of his throat and let Duck deeper. 

He’s distracted enough talking himself down from ruining his throat forever in a fit of lust that he misses the tendrils of the vine on his left leg spreading up his thigh. Then gasps and gags in quick succession as they tease and toy with his balls. 

“Good little moths get rewards, don’t you know that sugar?” Duck sounds unbearably pleased with himself as the vines continue drawing nasal whines from Indrid’s mouth, “I mean, you’re so good, I oughta be doin’ this to you every damn day.”

God, he wishes he would, tries to show it in the movement of his tongue and hips, then shrieks, muffled, when the vine fucking him doubles in girth and curls upwards. A second later Duck begins pumping into his mouth and all he can do is gag and grip his thighs for dear life. It’s like Duck is trying to fuck him hard enough from each side that he’ll eventually meet in the middle, cum deep in Indrid’s core and fill him up so he’ll never feel empty again.

That’s if he can keep his jaw from locking up and making him retch. Damn it all, he’s supposed to be _good_ for Duck, not get in his head during a blowjob. 

A hand flat on his side, reeling him back to the bed as Duck murmurs, “gave you permission to be messy for a reason, darlin. Just relax your jaw, yeah, there we go, that’s my sweet ‘Drid, makin me feel so good.” 

He feels better instantly, mouth slack so Duck can simply take what he needs, pre-cum and spit pooling in his mouth before dripping down Duck’s cock, adding to it’s shine. His eyelids and heart flutter at the thought that this is enough for Duck, for Indrid to simply open his lips and be patient and pliant, to whine and wiggle as Duck coats his chin in slick and pushes into his ass like it belongs to him and always has. 

The vine opening him speeds up, and he gasps abruptly as Duck spreads his asscheeks open with a pleased rumble. 

“Fuck if that ain’t the finest sight in the world, seein’ just how greedy you are when it comes to takin me. Soundtrack ain’t bad either, didn’t ever, fuck, think someone squeakin and gaggin could sound like fuckin music.”

Everyone, save one summer love and a few of the sweeter-dispositioned hook-ups, thinks Indrid’s noises are too strange. Too high, too chirpy, too broken. Just like his body is too angular, his movements too unpracticed, his mannerisms too odd. 

Too much somehow adding up to not enough.

He squeezes Ducks’ legs, needing to remind himself who he’s with, needing a distraction from the train of thought bent on running over his arousal.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, ‘Drid, nnnnn!” 

Cum literally floods his mouth and he fights to swallow it, loses the battle to gravity and his own unpreparedness. Sitting up simply sends it down his chest and the sight calms him, reminds him of his purpose for the night. Reminds him of the figure slowly scooting along the blanket and sitting up behind him, sighing something about Indrid’s back that sounds flattering. 

“‘Drid?”

The vines are all frozen in place, Duck’s hands are ever-so-lightly tracing the curve of his spine, “Somethin wrong, darlin? Do you, uh, wanna end things here for now?”

“No, nono” Indrid’s legs are still linked tot he bed so he can’t fully turn as he shakes his head, “I’m enjoying this so much it’s like...hmmm, it’s like being utterly cared for in the filthiest way possible but I, ah, I’m getting into my head and it feels like my brain is opting to fill the gaps made by malfunctioning futures with unhelpful thoughts.”

“There a way I can help?”

“I want to stop being elsewhere. Or, ah, I mean, I’m already mostly here, but I want to be all the way here.”

“You wanna try workin that in to what we had planned?”

“So badly.” Indrid rubs his temples. 

A kiss to the base of his skull, “Can handle that. You need a minute to get back into the mood?” 

He can’t see Duck’s eyes, but he knows they have that tinge of gentle worry around the edges.

“I...can you try to bring me back into it?”

“Your wish is my command, sugar.”

A bed-shaking growl as claws scratch up his thighs and teeth tug dangerously hard on his shoulder, “and you, sugar, are _mine_ to command.”

“Yes that works nicely.” The words rush as more vines emerge, trapping his arms behind his back, wrists to elbows and curling around his cock. The bed rustles and sags as Duck maneuvers in front of him. One hand threads into his hair, tugging his head back so he has no choice but to show his throat, and he’s very glad he works from home as Duck peppers hickeys across the skin as the vines set to work fucking him deep and stroking him off at the same time. 

When he whimpers Duck answers him with a chuckle and a drag of claws on his collarbone, “feel good, little moth?”

“Yes, oh god yes, Duck please, I’m, I’m close, can I-”

“Course you can cum, sugar.” A hand is cupping his chin as Duck brushes their noses together, “you know I want proof that you like what I give you.”

The vine on his cock twists up abruptly and he yelps, cumming on the bed and Duck’s stomach in messy bursts. 

“Th-thank you, that, that helped a lot.”

Duck’s eyes narrow, “you still feel down on yourself?”

Indrid bites his lip, hating the answer. 

“‘Drid.” Duck’s voice is level, and Indrid understands there is no wrong answer. Duck simply wants to know so he can figure out how to proceed. 

“A, a little. Perhaps I could, ah, use a bit more help?AHfuck” the vine inside him sprouts ridges and resumes pumping in and out relentlessly.

Duck clicks his tongue, “now sugar, that language ain’t called for.”

A smaller vine spreads over Indrids cheek, then taps his lips. He opens them immediately, then snorts a surprised laugh.

“What?” Duck is grinning as the vine retracts enough to let Indrid speak.

“Did, nnahgracious, did you make it taste like pineapple?”

A proud nod, “yep. Usually it don’t got a taste, but I wanted it to be somethin you enjoyed havin in your mouth.”

“So thoughtful.” Indrid sighs, opening his mouth once more.This tendril isn’t as forceful as the others, content to caress his tongue and glide over his lips the way Duck’s does when they kiss. 

The vines on his lower half have other ideas, pounding into him and wringing along his sensitive cock so insistently that he’d double over if he could. But he’s trapped, kept upright but Duck’s powers, unable to hide as more vines join the fray, squeezing his ass and circling his nipples, petting his back and moving with soft pressure of his belly. 

“Said you wanted me everywhere, remember?” Duck is breathless, watching him unblinking as he mind goes quieter and quieter. He’s still present enough to moan and nod, to feel pride spike through him when he sees Duck is hard again.

“Love bein’ able to feel you like this, feel every inch of you under my control, right where it belongs.”

The noise he makes to be a moan and loud to be a whimper, and he watches understanding spread over Duck’s face. 

“It’s the truth, sugar. You belong right here, with me. You don’t gotta worry about running or chasin anythin down. All you gotta do is stay put and let me fuck you.” A kiss to the corner of his mouth, “let me love you.”

He nods, laves his tongue over the cool, sweet matter in his mouth and Duck’s nostrils flare with a growl. 

“Think it’s time you came again, darlin.”

It’s too soon, he’s never had that fast a turnaround, but he can’t escape and he can’t protest and more importantly he doesn’t want to, he wants to let Duck make him cum as many times as he wants. 

All the same, his whole body jolts and writhes as the vine finds his prostate and the other rubs rapid circles around the head of his cock. His legs and arms fight to free themselves, and the vine in his mouth thickens to muffle his shouts and sobs.

“C’mon little moth, I know you want to, you wanna me good for me, fuck you look so good like this, all kinds of mess up and down you, got me dripping outta your mouth and ass and down that fuckin masterpiece of a body.” The Sylph cocks his head, “could use more though.”

He stands and Indrid tries to grab for him, eyes going wet at the thought Duck might leave his sight. His boyfriend senses it, rests a hand on his head, “shh, shh, s’okay, I’m stayin’ right here. Needed to stand up so I could cum all over that fuckin perfect face.”

Indrid doesn’t mean to cum them, but his praise kink is hungry after all his negative thoughts and it tips him the last little way into his orgasm. The vines don’t stop and he wails, honest to goodness wails, startling Duck enough that it all comes to a halt. 

“Don’t stop” is all he manages when the vine leaves his mouth before it shoves back in. Each tendril is at the same rhythm, the one set by Duck’s hand as he hungrily works it over his cock. His horns are covered in golden flowers, his arms starting to sprout tiny red roses.

“Fuck, ‘Drid, that’s it, just hold on and be good, take care of you, just, shit, just gotta, gotta, oh _fuck_ , fuck _yeah_.”

He shuts his eyes in time as cum spatters his cheeks and mouth, some even hitting his forehead and sliding down as the vines release him one by one. His mind is so quiet, filled only with _Duck, Duck, DuckDuckDuck_ , that he doesn’t notice he’s toppling forward until strong arms catch and hold him close.

They’d talked ahead of time about what he’d need afterwards, and so in a haze he’s lowered into the tub, Duck scrubbing him, color blooming in his vision as more and more flowers fill the room each time he tells Indrid how much he loves him, how well he did, how happy he is. A laugh when Duck gently guides a washcloth over his face with a “damn, got it in your eyebrows. Sorry about that.”

Then he’s in bed, Duck asking if he wants him to be human and Indrid nods, world coming back to him, because what he wants is to wrap all his limbs around his wonderful incredible Duck and hold him. 

Duck slips the ring on, “fuck, forgot I was wearin clothes, hold on.”

Indrid sits up, laughing as his boyfriend grumpily stumbles out of his pants. Then he full on guffaws at the room. Every plant is in bloom, a rainbow of petals and a kaleidoscope of shapes, all turned towards the bed. Daffodils and Dahlias are all around the bed, and they were definitely not there when they started the night. Moths and fireflies flutter into the room to alight on the blooms, and when he grabs his glasses to peer out the window he sees the whole grove is in the same state. 

“Whoops. Guess, uh, guess you’re so goddamn good in bed you made it spring all over again.” Duck giggles as he sits between Indrid’s legs, nestling his head under his chin.

“What are we going to do in winter? Everyone will know when you’ve taken me to bed because we’ll have a garden instead of snow.” Indrid tangles himself around him. 

Duck grins up at him, “I’ll just tell ‘em that you’re so amazin’ the plants can’t stay asleep. They just gotta be near you. After all” he kisses him sweeter than nectar, “I know the feelin’.”  
\----------------------------------------------  
Duck stretches, reclines against Indrid on the the beige couch of the trailer. The human is happily reading, and Duck is busy peeling an orange and feeding them each slices. Some part of him remains in utter disbelief, that he can have this. After he lost the other Indrid, he thought lazy days spent in a lovers arms were a thing of the past. He’s not sure he can ever fully express to Indrid how grateful he is for him giving him these moments back. He’s going to try all the same. 

A knock on the trailer door makes them both groans, and Indrid pats Duck’s thigh so he’ll move long enough for the taller man to stand. The knock comes again and Indrid calls, “one moment, I’m coming.”

“Wish you were.” Duck murmurs and Indrid arches an eyebrow, amused, before opening the door. 

Boyd is standing on the steps, hand on the arm of the man from the town hall meeting. Neither of them look happy to be there, and Boyd keeps glancing over his shoulder. 

“Thank fucking god. Indrid, you gotta let us in. We,” another look, more frightened than Duck’s ever seen on him, “we need a place to hide.”


	12. The Great Plan

“Why on _earth_ are you trying to hide here?” 

“Long story, I fucked up, Edmund fucked up even worse.” Boyd pushes past him, the other man in tow, and before Indrid even shuts the door he spots Duck standing, arms crossed as he surveys the pair.

“What the fuck are you doin’, bringin him around me? That fella’s the reason my woods are gonna have a big fuckin chunk outta them in two days.”

“A man must eat, my good si-”

“Shut up.” Boyd hisses, head tilted to one side. Indrid listens along with him, but hears nothing in the night but insects and a distant conversation.

“Boyd” he says cautiously, futures criss-crossing in blurred patterns in his mind, “why don’t I undo Winnie’s hook-ups and take you both to the lodge. Goodness knows it makes more sense to hide there than here.”

“We can’t, they’re already trackin us, it’s-” Boyd freezes as something large snuffles across the ground outside, and Indrid barely makes out the slow footfalls of a large creature.

“Not again.” He mutters, grabbing Beacon from the cabinet he shoved him in after he made rude comments about Duck. 

Instead of the expected growl a sigh, long and put-upon, slides under the door.

“Boyd, come out of there. And bring Mr. Chicane with you.” Stern is using the same voice Indrid’s seen him turn on unruly guests. 

“No. You think I forgot you just chased us here?”

Another sigh, “You were in a car, Boyd, I had to run to keep up.”

In spite of Boyd’s glare, Indrid opens the door. Stern is standing, arms crossed and clawed right foot tapping, dark fur making him blend into the unlit campsite. He steps forward, pokes his snout into the trailer. 

“Look, if there’s a reasonable--oh, hi Duck--explanation, I’m ready to hear it. And if you cooperate with me, I’ll do my best to make sure Mama doesn’t shoot you on sight the next time she sets eyes on you.”

“Ask this bugger” Boyd shoves Chicane towards the door, “it was his idea.”

“That you agreed to. You see, my Lycanthropic friend, this is all a misunderstanding. My associate and I were simply arranging a trade of possessions, including ones we each wanted.”

“But not ones that belonged to you” Stern adds, pointedly. 

A car door slams and everyone jumps, Stern whipping the bracelet back around his wrist. His human form relaxes a moment later. 

“It’s just Aubrey and Dani.”

“How the fuck did they get here so fast?” Boyd looks more frightened now than when Indrid opened the door for Stern.

“They seem to have borrowed your car.” Stern smirks. 

“Bloody fuckin hell, why’d I ever teach that girl how to hot-wire a car?”

“Why Boyd, I had no idea you had a protege.” 

“Fuck, I forgot you never know when to shut up.”

“Could we perhaps not do this in my house?” Indrid’s fairly certain Winnie’s floor will collapse if one more person tries to cram into her.

“You heard him, out.” Duck shoos everyone back outside and towards the firepit, long-dead coals reigniting at Aubrey’s approach.

“What the fuck?” Dani is immediately in front of Boyd, “you said you had something to tell me at the Lodge tonight and then Aubrey calls to tell me you tried to steal from Mama?”

“You _what_?” Duck and Indrid say in unison. 

“I…” Boyd falters, looks around at the others as if weighing the odds of them backing him up. Then he grabs Ned and kisses him, and it’s only when the other man pushes him away that Indrid sees why.

“That was a dirty trick.” Ned sounds genuinely upset as Boyd unwraps the purple handkerchief he lifted from his exe’s (?) pocket. Nestled into the cloth is a necklace, at the center of which hangs a black gem streaked with veins of red.

“No. Way.” Aubrey’s the quietest he’s ever heard her, “Boyd, do you know where that came from?”

“The Quell. I put it together one of the last times we went over and I finally got a look at her crystal. The underground one. Only ever seen a stone like that one other place, and it was this.”

“No.” Dani says flatly, “it didn’t come from the Quell. Or, well, the stone did. But that” she points at the necklace, “came from my house. It was stolen the night, the night..” she turns away from Boyd, Aubrey gathering her into her arms. 

“It’s okay, honey, it’s okay.” Aubrey holds her tight, extends her hand over her shoulder towards Boyd, “give me that. _Now_.”

Boyd hands it to her, staring at the ground the whole while. 

“Whelp, this has been real fuckin’ awkward but maybe we should-” Duck stills, eyes widening with alarm and Indrid turns his focus away from everything else to try and see what danger might be coming. 

“Reconciliation is starting tonight.”

Duck nods, “Picked ‘em up just now, they’re gatherin supplies at the edge of the woods. They feel determined and uh, well, like they mean a whole bunch of harm. I’m gonna go have a look.”

“I’m coming as well. Ah, one moment, let me grab Beacon just in case.” He dashes inside and retrieves the sword from the table, returns just in time to hear Stern speaking to Boyd  
.  
“You’re staying here, or going back to your museum, or to that van Mr. Chicane left near the lodge, until you figure out how to fix this. You’ve done enough for one night and if Dani doesn’t want you around well, then I’ll make sure you keep your distance.”

“Understood.” Boyd mumbles, looks up at Dani as she follows Aubrey and Duck towards the next camp, “I really am sorry.”

Dani doesn’t even turn her head. She stays silent as the quintet makes their way into the edge of the woods. Indrid ends up next to her. She’s his friend, and his friend is hurting, and he should do something. He takes her hand and squeezes. She squeezes back, lets out a shaky sigh and stares straight ahead, as if she can see through Duck--who’s leading the search--and into some far off, better place.

“Remember how I said I lost my parents too?”

Indrid nods; she’d overheard him telling Barclay the basics of why he was alone, why there was no one in a nice house somewhere worried about him wandering the world. He’d watched the usual friendly lines of her face rumple a moment, and understood what she was going to say before she said it. 

“I was seventeen. There was a break in at our house. I slept on the bottom floor, my parents were on the top, so I heard it before they did. I, I thought it was just them, moving around or getting a drink or something, so I got up to grab water. There was a guy in my kitchen, and I saw just enough to know he wasn’t my dad before I blacked out.”

Duck and Stern both stop, and Duck growls, “did one of those fuckers back there hit you?"

“That’s...that’s what everyone assumed. That could even be what happened. But I think about that night and part me feels like it remembers more, remembers getting up and doing something. You’ve seen the weird powers I have, for all I know I did something with them without really meaning too. When I finally woke up, I was in the hospital. My mom was dead from a heart attack. Dad was in some kind of shock and died two days after that. They caught what they thought was one of the burglars a day or two later in a totaled car, but he didn’t have all of the stuff that was missing on him. Including my mom’s necklace. Now I know why.”

“That’s half the reason I was able to sniff them out so quickly.” Stern says, more to Duck than to Indrid, “after Dani mentioned something about the man at the meeting seeming familiar, I dug and found out who he might be. So Barclay and I went on high alert, keeping an eye on things that might go missing.”

“I’m so sorry.” Indrid hugs Dani. Then he tugs her and, by extension, Aubrey down to the ground behind a shrub. Stern follows them, while Duck removes his ring and is instantly indistinguishable from a small tree. 

Their cover keeps them from being seen by the strange, four-armed, glowing creatures striding towards the forest, members of Reconciliation following along behind them. 

“Hurry, hurry” one says smoothly, “time has already been wasted.”

They hold their breath and Indrid closes his eyes, grabs and pulls and pushes futures about to bring him the information he wants. 

“That’s the last of them.” He whispers, “the camp is deserted.”

“Let’s find out what the heck is going on.” Aubrey moves first, Dani covering them both with a shimmering, foggy darkness. Duck follows Indrid, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t very glad his boyfriend could be seven feet tall when the occasion called for it. 

“Which one?” Aubrey nods towards the five, shiny trailers. 

Indrid focuses again, points to the second from the left. Maybe he’s finally getting the hand of this, maybe he can be of some use after all. 

“What the hell?” Stern, having wrenched the trailer door open, is blinking at an interior that is straight out of space opera. 

“Are they fuckin’ _aliens_?” Duck examines a screen with glowing green calculations bouncing around it.

“It would seem so.” Stern says mildly, though his tail is starting to wag. 

“Easy, nerd, somehow I don’t think they come in peace.” Aubrey keeps picking up books flipping through them, only to scrunch up her nose when she sees them filled with an unfamiliar script. 

“Uhhh, guys? I think you might want to see this.” Dani waves them over to a screen with a picture of Earth on one side and a different planet on the other. She pokes the screen sending a voice echoing out of the speakers on either side. 

“C’mon” Duck groans as the voice drones in a language none of them know, “it’s a fuckin’ futuristic computer thing, don’t it got the ability to speak in English?”

The voice stops, there’s a small whir from within the machine, and then continues, “....connection between earth and Sylvain established. Solar rotation 4024, axel turn 45, first agitant sent between worlds.”

On the screen, dots moving from the gate on to earth. 

“Mutual destruction likelihood increased to 78%. Continued increase until solar rotation 4024, axel turn 80. Sylvain and Earth send ambassadors to one another.”

“That has to have been me and the other guardians.” Duck murmurs. 

“Solar rotation 4025, axel turn 100. Interworld link severed by agents of Sylvain residing on Earth.” On the screen the gate disappeared, “project on hiatus until solar rotation 4074, axel turn 5. Organically formed link identified. Representatives dispatched to locate and secure. Solar rotation 4074, axel turn 47, substances released to decrease likelihood of interference by one with precognition.”

Indrid shudders; and here he thought the dimming of his powers was some sort of mercy.

“Begin increasing frequency of agitants Solar rotation 4074, axel turn 66, agent released onto earth to decrease likelihood of interference by remaining ambassador.”

“They knew about me.” The cracks in Duck’s scales disappear, strengthening his armor, “that’s why that last abomination fucked with my powers.”

“Plan accelerated to final stage due to concerns about outside interference. Solar rotation 4074, axel turn 74, device set to trigger core destruction of earth. Location of interplanetary link underway for installment of detonator for Sylvain. 

“Oh my god.” Aubrey covers her mouth as the screen shows the earth imploding while the layers of Sylvain are stripped away into the vastness of space. 

Stern turns human again, and even his hands are shaking as he grabs his walkie-talkie.

“Mama? We need the Pine Guard at the…”

“Northcreek” Duck says automatically

“...Northcreek campground. Yeah, that one. Hurry.”

“If there was something buried in town we’d know, right? We'd have to, it’d be obvious.” Dani looks at Aubrey.

“Not if it was done while everyone was distracted by a bigger project that could give it cover.” Stern points to the nearby machinery. 

All of Indrid’s mind lights up at once and he understands the last few months perfectly. He whirls, grabs Duck’s shoulders, “that image I kept seeing, the, the sinkhole. It’s going to happen tonight, it’s going to start at the center of town and just, just swallow the whole world up.”

“Fuck, shit, okay, we got time to stop it?”

“I, I don’t know. It’s going to happen, it’s already starting, it’s going to be awful there’s, there’s no-”

“‘Drid” Duck cups his face, “we’ll stop this. I swear to you. We’re gonna change that future."

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Standing in the doorway are several members of Reconciliation, backed by the glowing figures.

“We have spent centuries ridding the universe of planets with potentially violent civilizations, all the make the universe a more peaceful place. We do not fail.”

“Seems like you failed pretty fuckin bad when Indrid blew your fuckin gate to pieces.” Duck growls. 

A ripple of force beneath their feet.

“As I said: we do not fail. This is for the greater good.”

“You're gonna destroy two fuckin worlds!”

“A small loss to insure greater universal calm.”

“We’re running out of time.” Indrid looks frantically around for another exit. 

“You are not running any-”

The “where” is cut off by Stern launching himself into the cluster of figures, sending them stumbling and sprawling backwards. Indrid grabs Ducks hand and yanks him from the trailer at a dead run. 

“This is the kind of action we seek to be rid of.”

“If you don’t understand the irony of creating mass death and then being shocked when people are pissed with you, I don’t know what to tell you.” Stern looks at them as Aubrey’s fingers spark and a black cloud forms around Dani, “go. We’ll take care of the rest.”

The scene at the town center is chaos; buildings crack and shake, powerlines snap and fall like saplings, and everywhere the air is filled with screaming, with cries for help, with desperate searching for loved ones.

The sinkhole is widening moment by moment, but that’s not what worries him. It’s the white and blue orb that’s spinning deeper and deeper into the earth, bent on reaching far enough that it can suck the whole world in like some black hole. 

“There” Duck points to the top of the orb, “I saw that in a diagram when we were pokin around. Can’t be sure, but the pictures made it look like a self-destruct button.”

Indrid runs through futures as best he can, sees them trying to disarm or destroy the device with every conceivable tool or power and failing, always failing, the town and the county and the world disappearing. Duck disappearing before his eyes, pulled down into the endless disintegration of everything Indrid’s ever known. 

Distracted by this spiraling doom, the next earthquake is a complete surprise and it takes the ground from under him at the same instant it sends Duck backwards. His fingers scrabble and bleed into the ground, and his feet find the slimmest of footholds.

“‘Drid? ‘Drid!”

“I’m here!”

“Fuck, hold on, I’m comin, just hang tight!”

Indrid loses his grip with one hand, scrapes the back of it over Beacon’s hilt as he regains his hold. 

For the second time today, he has a moment of perfect clarity. He’s seen this before. He’s been here before. 

He draws Beacon, cold metal biting into his skin, dust falling in his hair. There’s a solution, one only he can see because another Indrid, many years ago, imbued him with foresight he never asked for. Maybe he knew this was coming all along. Maybe Indrid’s pull towards Kepler had nothing to do with Duck at all. 

“Shit” He hears Duck cough as another shake throws stinging bits of concrete and dirt into the air, “I’m gonna see if I can get some roots to work with me, I’m gettin you outta there come hell or high water.”

Maybe his coming here had nothing to do with Duck at all. But what he’s about to do certainly does.

With all his might he pushes off of the side of the hole and drops down, down, down. Through the wind in his ears he catches the moment Duck sees him, hears him yell something that he stands no chance of ever deciphering. 

“Shall we be good for something for once?” He points Beacon down and the sword cackles maniacally as they land on the device and Indrid drives him into it’s heart. 

Everything goes perfectly still, time freezing for a moment as the machines hum dims. Then it clanks, clatters, and bursts into a million pieces, enveloping him as it does.


	13. Answers

Indrid Cold wakes up dead.

His body aches, his ears are ringing. The space around him is blank, at once a small room and a vast, endless expanse. It’s not the blinding white or terrifying black he assumed would be awaiting him at the end of his life. Colors move in a spectrum, tinting the world around him. In the midst of them a figure materializes, tall and black like Death itself, and that sets off the finality of his situation for him, jolting him from his shock. 

“I, wait, I, can’t leave just yet. I don’t know if we won or if I failed and, and they may need help and, and, and” he blinks back tears as he figure approaches, “I can’t leave Duck behind. I don’t want to.” He scrubs his hands over his face, trying to wake up, trying to find the words to plead his case. 

“I understand entirely.” The fuzzy edges of the figure coalesce and Indrid drops his hands in disbelief. 

The mothman smiles patiently at him, head cocked to one side.

“You’re-”

“-Indrid. Other Indrid.” The Sylph says along with him. He bows, wings spreading out slightly, “at your service.” Then he offers his lower set of hands and helps Indrid to his feet.

“I...I suppose this means I did it, didn’t I? I fulfilled whatever destiny you had in mind for me. Why you wanted me to come to Kepler.”

“I do not follow.”

“My powers!” Indrid yells, all patience gone, “you gave them to me, there, there has to have been a reason you chose me, some reason I was the poor person who got stuck with visions I didn’t understand! Didn’t you see this all coming? Didn’t you plant the idea to go back to Kepler in me along with my foresight?”

The Sylph blinks, slowly, “Where did you get that idea? Your ending up in Kepler was only a possibility, not a guarantee, though now I think it may have been traces of my, ah, being within yours that pointed your eye that way. But I was not intentional. I thought Leo Tarkesian explained my reasoning to you?”

“He and Duck said you wanted help using your powers to save the world. Not why you picked me. How did you not see what I’d become, how unheroic I am? Or did you see I’d be just heroic enough to sacrifice myself? Just, why me, why me, why _me_?” Tears well up again, spilling in ugly rivulets down his face. 

The Sylph reaches out a claw and brushes them away, “I saw some of that, yes. In my defense, I was dying at the time. Have you ever heard of the Great Seattle Wharf Fire?”

“No.”

“Exactly. Unfortunately, it was a time when I could save everyone but myself. I was terrified at the thought of squandering the powers I had been given with my own foolish death, so I transferred them to you. At sixteen your futures were vast and varied, so I could not see who you would become, where you would go. But I could see that you were the kind of person who would try to stop disaster, even if he could not always succeed. Bravery after triumph is one thing, easily done. Perseverance after failure is another, much harder one.”

“But I-”

“-Ran away? I suppose you did. But even when you ran, you could not stop trying to prevent those disasters, could you? And when Duck” for the first time, his face loses it’s placidity, antenna twitching and red eyes flickering sadly, “when Duck was in danger, you faced down abomination.”

“Poorly.”

“That is not what matters.” He sighs, “all the same, I owe you an apology, Indrid Cold. I left you with my powers but without my training. Without guidance. And you suffered greatly as a result. For that I am unendingly sorry.”

“I’m” Indrid’s fingers flex in search of something to ground him, something to calm his mind, and all he thinks of are smooth green scales, “I’m not sure I forgive you.”

A dip of a dark, feathered head, “That is alright. That is your choice. And an understandable one. Goodness knows you have spent these last few years growing resentful of feeling like you must abide by the will of forces you do not understand.” 

“You sound as if you’ve been watching me.”

The Sylph nervously clicks his top claws together, “Earth does not have something like the Quell. Death here does not allow for much manifestation on the plane of the living. But I have observed you, as if that could suffice in place of the mentorship I ought to have given. And I, ah, intervened on your behalf on a few occasions.”

“Such as?” Indrid feels oddly conscious of how his own head cocks with the question. 

“Such as when a certain golden eyed guardian could not see beyond his own stubborn snout and let you out of those vines.”

“That moth was you?”

A lilting chuckle, “no, I merely nudged her to tell Duck what she had seen.” A fond sigh, “still so protective of his woods. Still so full of love, but so lonely too. I was so happy when I understood what was blossoming between you. That you loved him, differently than I do but just as deeply.”

The past tense slices him open and the words spill around them, “I, I’m never going to see him again. I just want to hold him, to, to say goodbye.” His shaky breathes turn to sobs and he turns to the Sylph imploringly, knowing full well that if there was a way back, this Indrid would have found it long ago. 

“I am sorry.” He chirrs mournfully and shakes his head before opening his arms. Indrid throws himself into them, stifles his screams of frustration in the down of his chest, “I never meant for you to meet such an end. Of all the things we had in common, I had hoped my powers and Duck’s affection would be the only ones of any consequence.”

At Duck’s name he sobs harder and he swears the Sylph echos the sound.

His skin is hot, itching and tight as if he’s been sunburnt all over. The colors beneath their feet are fading away. The next stage of death, that’s what this must be, there's no turning back after all.

Indrid’s hands on his back stop moving, and he takes a step backwards, staring down at him, “Then again, there is one thing we do not have in common.”

A smile, odd with the mandibles, brimming with a distinctive glint of “I know something you don’t know.”

“I did not have a friend who was such a powerful healer.”  
\-----------------------------------------------  
The sky comes to life above him, clouds swirling beneath stars. He knows the sounds surrounding him, the tumult that follows a disaster as people search and heal and weep and cry out with relief, sirens calling in the distance, loved ones calling for each other. This time, someone is calling for him. 

“‘Drid, ‘Drid, Indrid, no, please no, please don’t leave me, Indrid, please wake up, little moth, please wake..”

“Duck, you have to let him go, I’m having trouble drawing him back from this angle.” Aubrey’s voice is firm but gentle, and Indrid realizes the tightness in his chest is from Duck clinging to him as he rocks back and forth. 

Hot, dusty air whooshes into his lungs and he coughs.

“HAH! FUCK YEAH!” Aubrey whoops as Indrid continues coughing and spitting out particles of goodness knows what. 

Duck goes dead silent. Then he crushes Indrid to him.

“Don’t ever fuckin do that again.” He’s kissing him, flowers blooming in the cracked earth around them. Then he fumbles, slipping his ring on to kiss him as a human, his embrace not letting up in the slighted. 

“Uh, Duck, might wanna go easy, think his eyes are popping out.” Barclay is kneeling nearby, eyes wet even as he chuckles, Stern looming protectively behind him. 

Through the crack in his glasses and the tears clouding his eyes, Indird spots another figure. 

“Oh no. Oh no. Oh Duck, I’m so sorry, I failed, it was a trick, we really did all die. How else could he still be here?"

“No, you are very much alive, Indrid Cold. Though I am as perplexed as you are.”

“Oh my lord.” Sterns paws are over his mouth. Duck is now shaking worse than Indrid, neck and head twitching as if he wants to turn but is stuck.

“Duck?” The voice lilts.

“I can’t. I can’t look. If I look you’ll disappear again. Like that one Greek myth Vincent told me about.”

“I will not. I promise.” 

Slowly, Duck follows Indrid’s line of sight as he turns to look behind him. Standing, see through but there, is the other Indrid. 

“Hello, my darling. I do not have long. So, ah,” the claws are clicking together again, the Sylph sounding almost shy, “I will say I am sorry. I never meant to leave you. I did not. One of the, ah, reapers even said I complained more bitterly than any soul who had crossed over in quite some time. How could I not? I had lost that which I love most in the world. And I had broken my promise to stay by your side.” 

A strangled noise works it’s way up Duck’s throat, and then he;s burying his face in Indrid’s dust-covered shoulder, laughing.

“Y-you’re fuckin apologizin? I, I’m the one who begged to get my memories locked away 'cause I couldn't take the pain! I oughta be apologizin to you.”

“Oh my love.” The chirr, even sadder this time.

Indrid winces as he moves to hold Duck to him, the ranger sobbing out a mixture of emotions onto his torn shirt. Sylph Indrid looks on, helpless. Stern tries to rest a hand on his shoulder, comfortingly, and it goes right through. 

_I just wanted to hold him. To say goodbye._

Their last wish, another point in common. Indrid meets his glowing eyes, and nods. 

The large, black shape floats across the ground, and Indrid gasps as it phaes into him. Then he cups Duck’s chin, tilting it up with a fingertip.

“I love you so much, My dearest one. My Duck.” Their voices layer together as his hand comes up to wipe away tears. 

“I love you too.”

“May I have a kiss before I go?”

Duck sniffles, wipes his sleeve across his nose, “one more for the road?”

A hundred memories, at once his and not, of Duck saying that before one of them left to see to their duties, before Indrid would fly off on some errand of mercy. 

He leans in, kissing Duck harder than he ever has. Duck gasps and laughs and grabs at him like he did the first time in the theater.

Like the first time in a meadow he made just for them.

His fingers twine in Duck’s hair, paw his back, stroke his cheeks, touch every inch of him until he’s memorized it, until he can see it perfectly behind his eyelids until the end of time. 

“Goodbye, Duck. I love you with all that I am.”

“I” he wobbles and Indrid steadies him, “I love you too. Goodbye, Indrid.”

A chilly wave ebbs out of him, the mothman reappearing on the street. He bows once to all of them, and then floats up into the air and in the direction of the woods, fading into the air as he goes.

Indrid shakes his head to clear the last of the strange double vision from it. Duck watches him, smile growing from hidden to bright as he does. 

“Hey, ‘Drid.”

“Hello. That...that was strange. But I do not regret it.”

“Seem to recall you sayin somethin about normal bein overrated.”

“At times, yes. This was one of them.” Indrid smiles weakly, not for lack of love but because all of him hurts to move. 

Duck rests their foreheads together, keeping their joined hands against his heart. 

“Are you alright?”

“Think I hit every part of the grief cycle at once, but I’m comin’ out of it. And I got you. Course I;m okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

It’s a statement, a confident one, but all the same Indrid nods, “yes, we are.”

He kisses him as purely, exhaustedly, utterly and only himself as Aubrey looks towards the woods.

“Hmmm. I wonder if he was able to come back because Dani’s the Quell?"

Indrid jolts out of the kiss, turning awkwardly enough that Duck’s laugh bounces of the buildings.

“Dani is the _what_?”


	14. At the Center

It’s an odd few weeks in Kepler. Having a sinkhole appear, followed by an explosion and a dark cloud and aliens (or so half the town insists they are) is enough to throw even the strongest cities through a loop. 

But the sinkhole is repaired after Heathcliffe pays for it so it stops ruining the view from his house. The sky stays it’s regularly scheduled selection of colors. A few cars of men in black appear, but leave after conversing with the new man who’s taken up residence in the Cryptonomica. 

None of these events provide answers to what happened that day. But sometimes people are not looking for answers; they’re looking for normalcy. 

At Amnesty Lodge, however, answers were in high demand. Days, months, decades worth of answers, to lay out and sort through everything that had happened to them. 

It starts with Aubrey animatedly explaining that The Quell had been trapped in the necklace and then had passed into Dani when she was born, courtesy of her mother wearing the pendant in the delivery room. She’d dwelled in Dani, dormant, until the night of the robbery. When Boyd had knocked Dani out, only meaning to put her back in her bed so the robbery could proceed, The Quell had flared up, eager to protect her and her family. It backfired; the robbers fled, leaving Dani’s parents to come face to face with a furious goddess of death. 

The Quell felt such guilt for what she caused, she went dormant once more, until Dani had held the stone in her hand and asked her to come back. To help them save Sylvain. And so she emerged, to protect her love and her planet from the onslaught. Reconciliation never stood a chance. 

_“...And every time we kissed, I was KISSING A GOD!” Aubrey collapses with laughter, Dani kissing her face joyfully._

When The Quell emerged, the few Sylphs who died on earth were called back, called home. After Thacker confirms this Duck takes Dani into his arms for a full minute, hugging her and thanking her for helping him see him one last time. 

Boyd’s answers are simpler, but far more painful. That he’d abandoned Ned after the robbery, that he hadn’t recognized Dani when he picked her up hitchhiking. That he’d risked Mama’s wrath not to appease Ned or get rich, but to give Dani back the one thing he could from that night.

Ned’s answers are 95% bullshit, and the consensus is he should leave, and soon, until he soothes the worries and deflects the questions of the FBI when they show up, Stern and Indrid proving surprisingly adept at helping him sell the con. Mama gives her word not to shoot either of them and he moves into the room that used to be Dani’s (“so I can keep an eye on the old bugger”). She and Aubrey had been meaning to get a place together for awhile. They end up with two; one in Kepler, and one on Sylvain. 

Indrid’s visions return full strength and he gets answers as well. But not from them. For them. Duck talks him through what Other Indrid would do, offers up his own suggestions, and through trial and error and a small mountain of broken pencils, Indrid feels less like a flailing failure and more like a true seer. 

Duck’s gotten answers too, gets more as the months roll by and new questions present themselves. How does Indrid look in the hot springs? How hard does Stern blush when he teases him about the bites on Barclay’s neck? How does Duck feel about small trips away from the forest? How many times can a memory from his past blindside him, only for Indrid to cup his cheek and say it’s alright, he can still mourn him, that doesn’t diminish what they have? How hard can he laugh when he imagines Indrid, four arms crossed and antennae set in anger, arguing with some hapless reaper? How does it feel to awaken with Indrid, skinny and silver-haired, twined around him or splayed on his chest, day after day?

(the last one is easy: like a fresh bloom greeting the sun for the first time, world bursting with energy and light all around him).

Right now, though, there’s only one question on his mind. 

“How you feelin’, sugar?”

“Wonderful.” Indrid gazes up at him, eyes already glassy and smile wide. 

Duck kneels on the bed by his feet, a vine around each bony ankle tethering him to the mattress,”Glad to hear it. You ready to do this?”

“Yes, so very ready, Duck, please, I want you.” In spite of the grabbing motion he’s making, he doesn’t sit up. Duck’s orders work just as well as his powers when it comes to making Indrid comply. All Duck has to do is growl for him to stay laying flat and Indrid flops onto the bed like a blanket. 

“I know you do, darlin.” He cups his hands easily around Indrid’s ass, waving the vines away so he can tilt his hips up and off the bed, kissing each long leg before hooking Indrid’s knees over his shoulders. 

“Fuck, I love bein’ able to manhandle you like this.”

“I do too. Ohh OHHHH.” Indrid moans at the lick Duck gives his cock twice; once before it happens and another time as it does. Duck had forgotten how fun it is to fuck someone who can see the future; it makes for excellent build-up and, given what he and Indrid have planned for today, a much-needed buffer against him pushing too far too fast.

Duck huffs a warm breath across his cock just to feel him squirm. There’s lube (man made and vine made) dripping down his ass to the small of his back, and as Duck continues dragging his tongue in slow stripes he reaches down to rub it, Indrid relaxing as he does. He doesn’t use his mouth, just his tongue, because he’s still worried he might accidentally bite Indrid’s dick off.

Indrid has no complaints, if the moans he’s making are any indication. Duck flicks his tongue over the tip several times as he pricks his claws into Indrid’s thigh and the human whimpers, bucking into thin air once he pulls back.

“Please, I’m ready, this is lovely but I’m so ready-”

“Uhuh, sugar, we agreed you cummin’ first was a good way to get you even looser.”

“I know but, but AHgod, perhaps we can expedite things?” Indrid bites his lip, shifting his ass eagerly.

“Nope.” Another lick, earning him an “eeep.”

“We’re doin’ this slow so you don’t get hurt. And you ain’t exactly in a position to be givin’ orders. So,” he nips the meat of his thigh, “be patient.”

“This, this from the man who, gracious, already rode me once because GAH, because he was so turned on.” Indrid snickers and Duck bites him again. 

“Perk of bein’ in charge, sugar. I get to have a dick in me whenever I want.” 

And sweet fuck had he wanted it. They hadn’t even started the main event, were just frantically kissing and grinding on each other, both still human, when he’d needed to climb into Indrid’s lap and demand to be fucked then and there, pouring praise into Indrid’s ears when he obliged. 

He catches sight of his cum on his stomach, the end result of that round, and runs his tongue in more deliberate circles around Indrid’s cockhead until the human’s muscles tense. 

“Duck, oh goodness, like that, yes, yes, perfect, oh, oh _god_.” He groans as Duck pulls back, keeping him balanced with one hand long enough to drag the other up in a firm twist so Indrid spills down his shaft. 

Indrid is still purring out soft “thank you’s” as Duck eases them both down, carefully rolling so the human is resting atop him. His cock is getting dangerously close to looking like a waterfall rather than an appendage from how turned on he is, but there’s no rush. If Indrid wants to rest, wants to nap or to stroke his scales for awhile while Duck plays with his hair, he’ll get no complaints from the Sylph. 

Indrid raises up on his elbows, grinning, “shall we?”

Duck laughs, “eager little moth, ain’t you.”

“We’ve been planning this for _months_ , I’ve had lots of time to work myself up.”

“You and me both. Okay, you take the lead on the pace and shit, just like we talked about.”

“Giving up control so easily, my sweet?” Indrid backs up, positioning himself above Duck’s cock. 

“Nah, I’m still in control. Just don’t wanna break my sweet little human on the first go.”

Indrid hums in understanding, then guides the tip of Duck’s cock against his ass, squeezing it once before pressing the first half-inch inside. 

“Fuuuuuck” he clickgrowls, “good boy.”

Indrid preens, sinks another inch, then hisses, tensing. 

“Easy, easy, don’t gotta go fast to be good. Just gotta be you.” Duck pets his thighs, Indrid whimpering at the touch and relaxing around him. It takes a solid ten minutes before the human is even halfway down. Every nerve in Duck’s body tells him to push up, to fill Indrid, claim him before anyone else can. So he focuses on soothing him, coaxing him down little by little, encouraging him just to see him smile, praising him to hear him moan. 

“I, I’m, going to go a little faster.” Indrid rocks his hips, and his he moves back and forth the second half moves in bit by bit. He tips forward, laughs when his fingers touch Duck’s chest and immediately begin vibrating from his growls. 

“I’m, goodness, taking that as, as a good sign.”

“Uh huh, so good, you’re doin’ so good ‘Drid, takin me so well. 

Indrid looks up, straining forward, and Duck curls in to kiss him. It’s not a comfortable position to hold, but the taste of sweat and anticipation on Indrid’s lips makes up for it. The longer they kiss the more Indrid loses himself in a rhythm, Duck groaning every time the tight heat consumes another bit of him. 

Then there’s a shocked, grateful gasp and Indrid’s ass is bumping the base of his cock. 

“H-how’s it feel?” He brushes their noses together. 

“Big.”

Duck laughs. 

Indrid smiles, “You did ask. And, well, it’s not as firm as I feared. Which makes this easier.” He squeezes around Duck as he sits back up, making him jolt. Indrid yelps, delighted, all of his body pulling taut.

“Holy fuck.” Duck stares the slight bulge in Indrid’s lower belly, That’s him. Inside Indrid. Who is his.

If there’s anything left of his brain by the time they’re done today, it’ll be a fucking miracle.

Indrid notices the stare, follows it, “Oh. I, ah, I saw that possibility.” He’s moving again, high moans and whines coming from his chest, “I rather like it. It reminds me who I belong with. And how I belong to.” He rubs Duck’s belly fondly, his movements gaining confidence as he loosens even more. 

“‘Drid?” His teeth are going to shatter from how hard he’s clenching them.

“Everything alright?” Indrid pauses, head tilted in concern.

“Yep. You, uh, you mind usin’ those powers to tell me if flippin us over and goin’ to fuckin town on you is gonna end bad?”

Indrid concentrates for a moment. One of Duck’s favorite developments over the months has been how he no longer looks stressed or frightened when he watches the futures. Instead, he looks like he’s in control. 

“No” he licks his lips, “it will end quite well.”

“Thank fuck.” Duck snarls, grabbing Indrid and rolling them over. The human cackles for a second and then lets out a prolonged, sobbing moan as Duck pounds into him. 

“Yeah, that’s it you sweet thing, that’s it, lay back and lemme take care of you.” He chuckles as Indrid’s hands flail on the bed before flying up to grab the base of his horns and hold on, “I know, it’s a lot, but you’re takin me so well, bein’ such a good boy for meOW, nono, hush, s’okay, just surprised me.” He kisses Indrid’s temple as the human whines apologetically, having kicked Duck on a particularly hard thrust. 

He uses the arm not holding him up to rub Indrid’s cock, then the line of his own above it, “fuck, you look so fuckin good with my dick in you, love bein’ able to see myself fuck you, love watchin’ you take me like the obedient little moth you are even though I can fuckin split you in half, fuck” he can feel the base of his cock swelling, “you’re doin’ so good, my sweet ‘Drid, my perfect ‘Drid.”

“Duck” the syllables rattle as Indrid moans, “going, going to cum, please, can I?” 

“Course you can, sugar. In fact, I insist.” He reaches between, jacking Indrid off in time with his thrusts, licking at the blush spreading all across his chest and throat. The human cums with cry, spattering them both in the process, and he looks so happy, so trusting as he does that all Duck’s brain can do is scream _mineminemine_

Indrid pants as he comes down, tries to shift off of Duck’s cock on instinct. Looks up with wide, wild eyes when he realizes he can’t. 

“It, it’s flared, I, I can feel it.” He sounds as small as he looks and it makes Duck want to _ruin_ him. 

“You like it?”

A nod.

“Like knowin you can’t get away ‘til I’m good and done?”

“Yes” Indrid arches off of the bed and Duck arches down, resting his head by Indrid’s own as he grabs both of his hips. 

It takes two thrusts before the human is basically screaming, legs kicking and ass writhing to try and free him, moaning every time he’s stopped the knot, as he bounces helplessly under Duck’s thrusts. It’s only the fact that he’s shouting and sobbing “yes” over and over that Duck doesn’t stop.

Instead he snarls Indrid’s ear, “c’mon little moth, you asked for this. You wanted to take all of me, and now you got your fuckin wish.”

“Yes, want it, want it so much, FUCK, Duck, love, so much, so good, thank you.”

“Yeah, it’s good alright. Feelin’ you around me where you belong, hearin you thank like a good boy for fuckin you into next week. Oh fuck, shit, shitshit, c’mon ‘Drid, that’s it, take it, fuckin take it, oh fuck _me_.” He shoves his cock as deep as it will go and cums with a hissing, clicking growl. 

Indrid thrashes, whimpering as Duck pulses into him, “so much, it’s so much, love you so much.”

He’ shaking, sniffling, and as Duck waits to go soft enough to pull out safely he cradles him as best he can. 

“You did so good, ‘Drid, my ‘Drid, my sweet, perfect little moth, so fuckin incredible, I love you, I love you.”

The sniffles turn to giggles as he kisses his cheeks, and soon Indrid is cupping his face, kissing him back. 

When he’s finally able to pull out he sits back on his heels, feeling like the luckiest being on two separate planets. 

“You wanna bath?”

“Yes, please. Though you may have to carry me. My legs are not responding to any commands right now.”

So Duck scoops him up, light as feathers, bathes him and fusses over him and blushes every time new flowers bloom from his horns. 

After a prolonged massage and a nap, plus the restorative power of Capri Sun, Indrid is actually able to stand.

“Care to show me that flying squirrel nest you found?” He’s standing, new hiking boots on his feet and his usual loose clothes hanging off him, hand out. 

Duck takes it, “Of course, little moth.”  
\-------------------------------------------------  
The sun is setting on Kepler, West Virginia. 

In the lobby of Amnesty Lodge, Aubrey Little lays with her head in her fiance's lap, Dr. Harris Bonkers curled in a loaf on her chest. Mama sits nearby, sipping tea and laughing, albeit a tad begrudgingly, at one of Ned’s stories. 

In the kitchen, Barclay finishes preparing for dinner, not noticing the figure slipping into the room until Joseph’s arms are around his middle. He whispers something and Barclay laughs, spinning in his arms to kiss him. 

And in the Monongahela, which is having one of it’s most vibrant falls in living memory, Duck Newton and Indrid Cold walk hand in hand, on the edge of the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Next up from me? Well, let's just say you should be ready to rock.


End file.
